The Importance of Being Earnest
by Not-the-Norm
Summary: A young psychiatrist is swept up into the Winchester brothers' quest to destroy evil when a throng of supernatural events begin to happen involving her patients. Dean/OC
1. The Times They are a Changing

Author's Note: Just an idea that popped into my head while watching my new dvd set of Supernatural. It's growing as I'm typing it so let's see where it takes us.

Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me. Only the characters in this story (Tilly, etc.) are mine.

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><p><em>The line it is drawn<em>

_The curse it is cast_

_The slow one now_

_Will later be fast_

_As the present now_

_Will later be past_

_The order is_

_Rapidly fadin'_

_And the first one now_

_Will later be last_

_For the times they are a-changin'_

_ —Bob Dylan_

**Wapato, Washington**

The grey, misty atmosphere around the town was anything but beautiful. It wasn't uncommon, though. In fact, most days were as this one: bleak, very bleak. Tilly sighed as she drew her large coat around herself. Her large purse swung around one arm as she attempted to keep her balance as she made her way towards her icy car. Her breath fogged around her face as she shakily unlocked the driver's side door. The steely leather seats did nothing to help her plummeting body temperature. Sighing, she quickly started the vehicle before blasting the heat as high as it would go. One day she would find the nerve to leave this God-forsaken town. Until then, she would continue to endure the unearthly cold her town insisted on sustaining far past the winter months.

_"A top of the morning to you early birds out there. After you're done hitting the snooze button and wishing unemployment paid as well as your mundane job, make sure to keep a watchful eye out on the road. Mother Nature has once again graced us with her icy touch and the roads are particularly slick. Great news for the junkies out there who crave the high of driving ten miles over the speed limit. While you daredevils keep outrunning the fuzz, the rest of you be careful on that asphalt. In other news—"_

Tilly slammed the radio off as she pulled into the office parking lot. She glared at the contraption, her mood as dreary as the weather. Reaching for her purse, she quickly locked up her car before heading inside. Heat immediately enveloped her as the glass door swung closed behind her. She breathed in deeply, her mood lifting slightly at the warmth.

"Good morning, Dr. Evans," Grace, the young receptionist at the front desk greeted. Her perky peach lips peaked into the same cheerful smile she always wore in the mornings, her fingers typing rapidly away at the keyboard in front of her.

"Morning, Grace," Tilly called back. "Any messages for me?"

"Mr. Lewis would like you to call him back at your earliest convenience." Grace answered as she stopped her typing to search through her top drawer. She pulled out a slip with a phone number on it before handing it to Tilly. "His client has just been moved to Silver Creek Mental Institution on the insanity plea. They need an expert opinion."

Tilly took the phone number. She checked her wristwatch before asking, "Anything else?"

Grace shook her head. "Your mother tried calling again, but I told her you were out on vacation just as you told me to say."

"And you told her that I wasn't taking any calls while away?" Tilly asked hurriedly.

"Of course," The young receptionist answered, her fingers already pounding away at the keyboard once again.

"Good," The older woman muttered.

The phone suddenly rang, Grace quick to answer it. With one last glance at the front desk, Tilly took the opportunity to leave. Trudging down the hall, she languidly made her way into the large office down the far hallway. Flipping on the lights, she shrugged out of her overcoat before tossing it and her purse upon the lone chair that occupied the area next to the doorway. Plopping down at her desk, she sighed as she glanced over the scattered papers that lay on the surface of the wooden table. Taking a few in her hand, she glanced over them casually. Most were concerning convicted felons who hoped to use the insanity plea to shorten their paroles. Tilly reordered the documents before stowing them into a drawer in her desk. The felons could wait a few more days in their cells.

The young woman jumped suddenly as her intercom beeped loudly. "Dr. Evans?" Grace's smooth voice called through the speaker.

"Yes, what is it?" Tilly answered.

"Mr. Palmer is here to see you."

"Send him in." Tilly requested, a small click being her only response.

She quickly cleared off the rest of her desk before scooting in her chair to face the filing cabinet next to her. Pulling the third drawer open, she riffled slowly through the numerous files before stopping at a particularly bulky one. Pulling it from the shelf, she softly pushed the cabinet shut before laying it out on her desk. She opened it just as a small knock resounded at her office door. Tilly glanced up, her lips falling into a warm smile as she caught sight of the man standing in her doorway. His skittish eyes glanced back and forth as he waited for her to acknowledge his presence.

Standing from her desk, Tilly motioned towards the small couch near her. Her chocolate eyes remained calm and serene, her body language following suite. Although she felt anything but social today, she was professional enough to put on a cheerful façade for her patient. After having Mr. Palmer as her patient for over five years, she had grown accustomed to him clamming up if her aura didn't ooze serenity.

"Bernard," Tilly continued to smile as she spoke. "How are you this morning? Come in, have a seat. Would you like a cup of coffee?"

Bernard's icy blue eye darted towards the young psychiatrist. His jaw was clenched and his visage was skeptical as he began to ring his gloved hands together. While he seemed to have heard Tilly, he made no attempt to acknowledge or acquiesce to her request. Instead, his pale eyes continued to stare at her. They were wide and bloodshot. Tilly recognized the look; Bernard was an infamous insomniac. She figured from his glossy stare and wobbly stance that he hadn't attempted a wink of sleep in at least three days, perhaps four. Slowly strolling over to him, she reached out a slender hand as she asked, "Bernard, did you hear me?"

The man jumped slightly at the contact her fingers made against his arm. His hands stopped their ringing motions as he turned his gaze to stare at Tilly. His jaw relaxed as he studied her calm, welcoming expression. "Dr. Evans..." He trailed off as he continued to stare.

"Bernard, did you take the medicine I gave to you?" He didn't answer. "The big blue pill you're supposed to take every morning?" The man's silence continued. "Bernard, I need you to answer me."

"I...I suppose t-that I forgot this mornin'..." He replied gruffly, his face holding a slightly confused expression.

"Hold on one moment, okay?" Tilly asked before leaving his side to intercom her receptionist. "Grace, can you bring back one dose of Mr. Palmer's medication along with a cup of water, please?"

"Be there in a moment," Grace called back.

Tilly thanked her before moving back over to her patient. "Bernard, I need you to follow me to the couch. I kept the pillows on the left side just for you. That's how you like the pillows, right?"

Bernard nodded slowly as Tilly took his arm and maneuvered him over to the couch. He reluctantly followed her example as he took a seat in his familiar spot upon the couch, his eyes darting back and forth around the room as he sat perched atop the small sofa. "Dr. Evans..."He murmured as he sat stiff.

"Yes, Bernard? Did you want to tell me something?" Tilly questioned as she reached for her glasses that had been discarded on the small table in the middle of the room the day before. She quickly slipped them on before turning to face her patient once more. "This is a safe space, Bernard. Remember? You can tell me anything. I'm your friend and I'm here to help."

_Psychiatry 101_ taught Tilly to always remind the patient that the session was a safe environment for them to share their feelings. Most often than not her patients were the kind that talked without talking. Her discovery of their real problems came much later in the process. Yet Bernard had always been able to really talk to her without embellishing on the truth or avoiding it altogether. This vulnerability only occurred though when Tilly reminded him that he could find safety in her presence.

The elder man glanced at her with his bloodshot eyes, the shape never straying from its wide angle. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but quickly shut it as the door to the office swung open. Grace strolled in and handed the large pill and water cup to Tilly before smiling softly at Bernard. "How are you today, Mr. Palmer?" She asked. He didn't reply and after a moment's pause, Grace quickly took her leave.

"Here you are," Tilly offered, placing the blue pill in Bernard's hand. He stared down at it unmoving. "Do you remember my directions? You have to swallow it, Bernard. Put it in your mouth and I'll give you the water."

Slowly the man lifted the pill to his lips before placing it in his mouth. Tilly handed him the water and watched carefully as he drank from the cup. He sighed as he lowered it from his lips. A moment's silence ensued before Tilly stood from the couch. She quickly grasped the opened file from her desk before moving to take a seat in the chair across from Bernard.

"So, Bernard," She began. "How was your weekend? Did your sister take you out?"

He nodded.

"And where did you two go? Did you go to the park?" Tilly glanced at the papers in her hand before moving her vision on her patient once more.

Bernard shook his head.

"I hear the farmer's market was in town this weekend. Is that where you went?"

The man sat still this time, either unable or unwilling to answer.

Tilly sat for a moment, her eyes observing the peculiar man before offering, "Oh, I didn't get your answer earlier. Did you want some coffee? I could really go for some right now, as a matter of fact. Should I call Grace and ask her to bring two cups?"

Again there was no answer from the stiff-seated man.

"Alright, I'll ask for two, then." Tilly concluded and was about to stand when Bernard's gaze suddenly shot up to meet hers.

"I don't want any damn coffee." He responded sternly, his expression turning harsh as he sat back against the couch.

"Ah, there you are." Tilly commented with a smooth smile. "I was afraid I wouldn't get to enjoy a conversation with you today. So what is it you'd like to talk about?"

"This weekend..." He started, his resolve melting into the same fearful façade he had worn earlier when entering the office. "It happened again."

Tilly's face fell into a look of concern as she moved to push her spectacles up the bridge of her nose. "Was it the same this time or different?"

"The same." Bernard answered grimly.

"Can you explain it to me?"

Bernard glared across the way. "I already told you about it once, didn't I? It's the same every damn time."

"Well, let's go over it again. Perhaps there was a detail we missed last time that could help us answer why this thing keeps happening to you." Tilly suggested, her right hand reaching for a pen as she flipped to a blank sheet of paper in her file. She popped the lid off as she waited for Bernard to divulge the details of his weekend.

"It always starts the same..." He muttered. "I have a nightmare about a little girl. She's drowning."

"What does she look like?"

His icy eyes fell downwards as he thought for a moment. "She's small...probably not older than eight. She has long red hair and bright green eyes. Her skin is pale, though that could be because—" Bernard stopped short, his mouth clamping shut as he found himself unable to continue.

"Because she's drowning." Tilly finished for him. The elder man nodded.

"I reach out to save her, but I can't seem to find her hand. I try and I try, but I'm always too late. When I finally do manage to reach her, her body is suddenly dragged downwards out of my grasp. I try to see what's taking her, but all I can make out are a pair of glowing orange eyes."

Tilly waited a moment. "Then what happens?"

"I wake up." Bernard answered.

"And does the nightmare go away when you wake up or do you still feel as if you're in it?" Tilly scribbled down a few notes as she listened.

"That's the thing, Doc," He began, his voice shaky. "I'm startin' to think it's not just a dream. Recently when I wake up, the eyes that I see...I can still see them. Usually I see them reflected in the mirror...sometimes they're in the window. I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me, but every time I see those eyes they get brighter and brighter. This weekend when it happened, I could have sworn they were in the room with me. I heard breathing too..."

"Did you turn on the light? Did you investigate the room to see what you heard breathing?"

Bernard shook his head. "I kept staring at the eyes trying to make out what kind of creature it was. All I remember seeing is a dark shadow, but I must have fallen asleep because next thing I knew I was waking up and it was light outside."

"And there was no evidence of something being in your room when morning came?" Tilly asked.

"Not that I could find. Everything seemed to be in order." Bernard answered. "I know we talked about this, Doc. I know you said these hallucinations are just in my head...but I'm startin' to feel scared, you know? I'm startin' to think that this might not be just another fantasy. It's too coincidental, right? It's been the same nightmare for the past month; the same orange eyes staring at me when I wake up. It has to be more than just a repressed memory."

Tilly breathed in deeply, her hand moving to push back the stray hairs that fell in her face. "Bernard," She started. "Hallucinations can appear to be very real sometimes."

The gruff man stayed quiet, his eyes still on the floor as she spoke.

"And I can see that you haven't been taking the medicine I prescribed. Those are supposed to help with the nightmares, Bernard. If you don't take the pills then these illusions are going to keep occurring." Tilly's voice was soft as she spoke. She knew a stern tone would not help the fearful man across from her. Like many of her other patients, Bernard had been diagnosed with schizophrenia and so hallucinations such as the ones he described were common.

"I tried takin' the pills, Doc. I really did." He offered, his wide eyes rising to meet hers. "And they worked for a little while. I thought maybe they had cured me. But then this weekend...when it happened again I knew the pills wouldn't help. So I've been staying up at night instead. It seems to keep the eyes away just fine."

"What frightens you about the eyes, Bernard?" Tilly questioned.

The man paused, his lip suddenly trembling as he brought his hands together again. They shook as he rung them uneasily. Tilly could make out small beads of sweat upon his forehead as his gaze began to dart around the room again in a frantic manner. "I-I don't really feel safe talkin' about it anymore."

Tilly quickly intervened, using her clinical tactic. "Bernard, you're safe here. Nothing can touch you."

"I know, but..." The man sighed. "I just think that you were wrong earlier."

The young woman's brow rose. "How so?"

"When we analyzed my dreams earlier," Bernard started. "You said that the girl in it—the drowning girl. You said she represents a repressed memory."

"Yes, that's right." Tilly agreed. "Do you remember why you came to live at Silver Creek Mental Institution?"

Bernard's face morphed into a look of sheer anguish as he nodded slowly, his jaw clenching as he reached a gloved hand up to wipe at his eyes. "C-cause of my dau-daughter."

"Do you remember what happened?" Tilly continued. She knew it was hard for him to remember, yet it was also crucial. When he would repress this important memory his nightmares would begin to spiral out of control. There had been numerous occasions where he had to be escorted to their sessions, his arms restrained in a suffocating straight jacket.

"I know that I d-dream about her drowning cause..." He choked back a small sob. "Cause she drowned in the lake outside our h-house and I c-couldn't save her."

Tilly reached her slender hand over to softly touch the elder man's knee. His pale eyes darted to her hand as he sniffed loudly. "It's okay to remember the past, Bernard. You don't have to repress what happened. We talked about this; it wasn't your fault."

"I know," He agreed with a shaky nod. "But I don't think it ended that day. I-I think Lucy still needs my help. She still needs me."

"How does she need your help?" Tilly questioned.

"The creature with the orange eyes," Bernard answered. "I think it has Lucy...it has her trapped."

The rest of the session involved Tilly listening to the distraught man's assumptions of why he continues to have nightmares about his daughter and the strange creature. Usually the young psychiatrist would help him see the reality of the situation and aid him in understanding that everything he sees is a part of his sickness, this being yet another tactic she had gained from her _Psychiatry 101_ course. With the pill, she had insisted, he wouldn't have to endure the pain of the nightmares anymore. This time as he spoke, though, Tilly listened. She didn't ask him to evaluate the truth from fiction; she didn't convince him that all of this happened because he wasn't mentally stable. She listened, because she knew that sometimes patients needed just that. The manner in which Bernard had entered the office had shown her that he needed an ear to listen to him and a bit of stability while he shared his fears. Tilly offered both, even if she found his hallucinations to be completely artificial.

"I'm leaving now," Grace announced as she passed by Tilly's office. "Need me to do anything before I go?"

"Could you email my schedule to me? I wanted to see if I have time to pencil Bernard in for another session this week."

"Did something happen to him over the weekend?" Grace asked with a concerned frown.

Tilly sighed. "Nothing out of the ordinary. His nightmares are back at full force and I'm afraid if we're not careful he might have another episode soon."

"Poor guy," Grace commented.

Tilly agreed. "I figured another session wouldn't hurt. He needs to stay on top of taking his medication, anyways."

"I'll email you the schedule as soon as I get home." The young receptionist replied before bidding her boss good night.

Tilly flipped through the folder on her desk, her eyes scanning over the details of Bernard's case. Over the last month he had seemed to be dealing with the death of his daughter fine. The nightmares had ceased and each time he came in he was more and more talkative and lively. It appeared as though this weekend had caused the first regression. Tilly had anticipated the set back, but it had occurred a bit sooner than she would have preferred. _Orange eyes_...She wondered what the hallucination could mean. The psychiatrist knew that the dream of the young girl had to do with Bernard's horrific memory of Lucy's death, yet the dark creature confused her. Perhaps it symbolized his inability to save her? Instead of blaming himself, he felt safer in blaming an unknown entity.

Tilly's eyes lifted from the papers as she heard what sounded like a door creaking open before slamming shut.

"Hello?"

The young woman waited, yet only silence met her as she sat still at her desk. As her eyes lowered back to the folder she held, her ears picked up the slightest sound of footsteps resounding down the hall. Tilly's gaze darted to the dark doorway again.

"Grace? Did you come back for something?" Again, no answer was returned.

Standing from her desk, Tilly slowly made her way out of the office and into the dark hall. Dark russet eyes squinted ahead as a small light in the lobby flickered on and off. The psychiatrist sighed loudly, her lips set into an annoyed frown. Grace always forgot to turn off the light to the storage closet. It had blinked for months, yet neither of them bothered to get it fixed; dealing with psychotic patients, court cases, and asylum visits was more than enough for them to handle. With only one secretary to help her, Tilly just didn't have the time to fix a light bulb in a back closet. Making her way to the lobby she glanced behind the desk towards where the closet was located. The dim light illuminating from underneath the door switched on and off repeatedly. Tilly began to walk towards the annoyance, yet as she reached her hand out to grab the doorknob the light suddenly steadied. She stopped, her eyes keen on the bright light shining from within the closet.

"Huh," She mused. "I guess it fixed itself." She turned with a small smirk. "One less thing I have to worry about."

She took a step back towards her office. The light behind her flickered once more. Tilly huffed in exasperation. "Of course, I'm not lucky enough to have a light fix itself. Who was I kidding?" As she turned around to shut off the light, her eyes suddenly caught on something just outside the office doors. Squinting so as to make out what it was, she suddenly felt her skin grow cold as a pair of glowing eyes opened and settled on her form. She stared back in confusion, her mind reeling as the orange eyes began to register in her brain.

"What the hell," She muttered as she watched the dark figure. Its eyes never left her as she walked towards the door, her mind screaming at her to stop. Tilly could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end while a small sweat accompanied her jittery nerves. She didn't let her fears get the best of her, though. She hadn't't spend the last eights years of her life getting a degree _and_ a doctorate in psychiatry to suddenly gain some sort of belief in the supernatural. There was a logical reason behind the eyes staring at her and she was going to find out what it was.

Reaching for the door, she yanked the handle roughly. The glass didn't budge. "Ah, of course Grace can't turn off the closet light, but she can lock the front door." She commented sarcastically.

Reaching in her skirt pocket, she fumbled around with her keychain before finally grasping the key to the front doors. Jamming it in the lock, she quickly swung the door open and stepped outside. Her eyes searched the perimeter where the creature had been standing, yet now nothing occupied the area except a shallow mist. Tilly sighed, her arms crossing in front of her chest as she glanced around the empty parking lot. Reaching for the door, she let it close behind her as she made her way back to the office. After organizing her desk she decided to call it a night. Retrieving her things, she shrugged into to her large coat as she stood in the lobby. She glanced towards the faulty light in the storage closet and quickly switched it off before leaving the building.

The strange occurrence didn't plague her mind as the night drew to a close and even on the way into her office she had all but forgotten about the ominous eyes. Smiling at Grace as she made her way inside the building the next morning, Tilly strolled down the hall to her office as usual. Dropping her things in the chair next to the door, she glanced at the note that was lying upon her desk. _Call Silver Creek Mental Institution. _Ah yes, she had meant to check on Bernard to see if he could come in again. Picking up the office phone the psychiatrist quickly dialed the number.

"Silver Creek Mental Institution, this is Gabrielle. How may I help you?"

"Yes, hi. This is Dr. Evans calling to schedule an appointment with Mr. Bernard Palmer. Do you know if his nurse is available? I'd like to set up another evaluation for this week."

"Uh," Tilly's brow furrowed as she heard the receptionist on the line stutter. "C-can you hold on one moment, Dr. Evans?"

A frown broke upon the young woman's lips as she replied, "Of course."

The line cut to the institution's hold message. Sighing, Tilly reached for a few folders she had left on her desk to go through that morning. She flipped through the first one absentmindedly.

"Dr. Evans?" An unfamiliar male voice questioned.

"Yes, who is this?" Tilly asked, her hand closing the file she had been scanning.

"This is Detective Collins. Your patient, Mr. Bernard Palmer, has been missing for the last twenty-four hours. We'd like you to come in for some questioning, if you have the time."

Tilly blinked, her mind suddenly flashing to the strange incidence the night before. "Um, sure I can come in. When would you like me to be there?"

"Meet us here at the mental institution in twenty minutes." The dial tone started up as the call went dead.

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><p>Read and Review!<p> 


	2. Dust in the Wind

Author's Note: And here you are. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

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><p><em>I close my eyes<em>

_Only for a moment and the moment's gone_

_All my dreams_

_Pass before my eyes a curiosity_

_Dust in the wind_

_All they are is dust in the wind_

_Same old song_

_Just a drop of water in an endless sea_

_All we do_

_Crumbles to the ground though we refuse to see_

_Dust in the wind_

_All we are is dust in the wind_

_ —Kansas_

"Grace, I'll be back."

Tilly knew she had told the detective she would meet him at the institution, but she couldn't help but let her curiosity get the best of her. She pulled out of the office parking lot headed towards the lake county. She figured that if Bernard went anywhere, it would be to his old house by the lake. He had made numerous attempts in the past of escaping to his aged home and the nurses had been adamant about keeping him away. Often times after enduring an episode he would come into Tilly's office muttering things about the lake and Lucy.

Glancing up at the decrepit house, the young psychiatrist sighed. She didn't particularly like playing babysitter to her patients, yet she felt sympathy for Bernard. He had suffered through a horrific tragedy with the loss of his daughter. She knew he most likely sought closure by returning to the place in which the terrible incidence happened. Little did he know that this homecoming would most likely not bring him any sort of satisfaction. Tilly had hoped her weekly appointments with him would help suppress this need to return to the lake house, yet it appeared as if the set back the day before had been worse than she first imagined. The brunette opened her car door, her eyes never leaving the shadowed house.

"Bernard?" She called his name, yet didn't expect an answer.

Locking up her vehicle, she quickly made her way up the porch. It creaked under her weight and her eyes darted to the old wood beneath her. She hoped it would support her. To her knowledge, the house had been unsellable since the death of the young Palmer girl, which meant that upkeep on the place was not a regular thing. She imagined the bank held little care for a house that had haunted the market for almost five years. Tilly reached for the handle on the front door, not surprised in the least to find it locked. Passing by the door, she knelt down and pressed her face upon the window. The inside of the house was vacant save for a few pieces of furniture covered by large white cloths. The dust that occupied the window was heavy, which made it hard for Tilly to fully make out the scope of the front room. She watched the inside for a few more moments, but gave up with a sigh as everything remained still. Bernard had to be here; there was nowhere else she could think of where he would try to go. He wasn't the kind of patient who found kicks by plotting escape attempts. He was the one who checked himself into the institution after all. If he did leave the asylum, it was for a specific purpose. That purpose typically caused him to gravitate here.

Rounding the side of the house, Tilly continued to follow the wrap-around porch. Her hand grasped the railing as she caught sight of the lake. It laid just a small ways down the hill. The dock belonging to the Palmer's was now completely dilapidated. Wood swayed back and forth in the stagnant current of the lake water. Tilly fought back a small shiver, the scene becoming more and more eerie the longer she stared.

"Bernard, it's Dr. Evans. Are you here?" Tilly buttoned the front of her coat as a small wind kicked up. She sniffed, her cheeks aching from the chilly cold. "Bernard, I'm here to help. Please, come out so we can talk."

A shuffling sound caught Tilly's attention and she quickly turned her gaze to the small forest beside the house. Her eyes fell into slits as she gazed at the dark woods. Curiously, she took a few cautious steps towards the woods. Within the shadows she watched as a dark figure began to grow, a pair of familiar glowing eyes staring at her as she stopped in her tracks. "You have got to be kidding me."

Shaking her head, Tilly closed her eyes tightly. This could not be real. Why was she seeing the same harvest-hued eyes as the night before? She had deduced last night that it was all part of her imagination. It was a silly coincidence that caused her to see the same creature that Bernard had described witnessing after waking from his nightmares. She knew from numerous classes on the subject that her mind was merely projecting her patient's fears. She had been an expert at empathizing with patients due to an innate skill of being able to get inside the minds of patients and share the same fears as they felt. This case was no different than the others.

Taking a few deep breaths, she opened her eyes slowly. She frowned when she was met with the same sight. "Come on, Tilly, get it together." She muttered.

Remembering her lessons on projected fears, Tilly averted her gaze from the ghostly eyes. Instead, she focused her attention on the lake. Scanning over the surface, she gasped as she caught sight of what looked to be a body bobbing in the shallow waves. "Bernard!" She called as she took off from her spot on the porch.

Reaching the bank of the water, Tilly became anxious as the figure of Bernard began to clear. "Bernard, can you hear me?" She frantically asked as she kicked off her heels. "If you can, I'm coming out to get you. Try to stay above water!"

Dashing into the icy lake, Tilly waded over to her patient. Grabbing him by the arm, she quickly hugged his frosty body to hers before dragging him back towards the shore. Heaving the large man upon the sand, Tilly huffed as she let herself fall to her hands and knees. Her toes were numb from the cold, yet she paid no mind to them as she quickly grabbed Bernard.

"Bernard? Are you hurt?" Shaking his arm, she panicked when he didn't respond. "Shit," The young woman muttered, hoping he hadn't been unconscious in the water long.

Taking hold of his arm, she pulled him over so that he could lie on his back. A sharp gasp left her lips as she was met with the sight of his façade. His face was beyond mutilated, his skin a disturbing green. Quickly covering her mouth with her hands, Tilly let her eyes wander over the rest of his still body. No blood adorned his clothes, yet she knew some kind of brawl must have happened. There was no other way his face could be maimed so harshly without some sort of conflict.

"Oh, Bernard." She whispered, her hand leaving her mouth to find his arm. She squeezed it gently.

Taking a few deep breaths, she quickly reached into her pocket to fish out her cell phone. She pressed a few numbers before shakily holding it up to her ear. "Hello? Yes, there's been an accident. A man has been found dead at 5662 Woodbridge Lane. I'm out back by the lake...Thank you." She let her hand drop to her side as she placed the phone back in her coat pocket.

A noise behind her suddenly caught Tilly's attention. Staying frozen in place, she kept her eyes on Bernard's lifeless body as the noise grew louder. Her mind flashed to the woods with the glowing eyes. Perhaps they had belonged to some sort of animal that had attacked her patient. She took a shallow breath. Reaching into her pocket, she quickly grabbed the small bottle of mace she carried with her at all times. Holding it firmly in her hand, she closed her eyes for a brief moment before turning to stand. She quickly whipped the mace out and pointed it at the figure behind her.

"Woah, hold it there." Tilly's brow furrowed as her gaze settled on two men standing a few feet away from her.

"What do you want?" The young woman demanded, her hand still steadily holding the mace in the strangers' direction.

The man nearest her sighed as if he had been through this sort of thing before. "You don't have to be afraid, we're detectives. We heard about Mr. Palmer's escape and we came to investigate."

Tilly kept her gaze on the two, her skepticism not fading as she stayed her ground. "Who are you?"

The closer man smirked before replying, "The better question is: who are you? Don't you find it a little suspicious that you're here alone with the man in question? And from the looks of it," He paused as he glanced over Tilly's shoulder to view Bernard's face. "Said man appears to be dead."

"My name is Matilda Evans. I'm Mr. Palmer's psychiatrist." Tilly answered harshly. She didn't like the looks of these two men and the twenty questions were only making them less appealing. "I came out here to look for him when I heard he was missing from Silver Creek."

"Matilda Evans?" The man with the shorter hair seemed to be in thought before a large grin passed over his features. "Matilda Evans," He repeated. "I remember you."

Tilly's brow furrowed in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You mean you don't remember me, Tilly the Filly?"

The young woman felt her jaw drop as she stared at the man in front of her. "Excuse me?" She asked, her voice an angry whisper.

"It's me," The man assured, the grin still present on his face. "Dean Winchester."

"You," Tilly said in disbelief. "How did you find me here?"

"Hey, don't flatter yourself, Filly. We didn't come here because of some stalking fetish. Me and my brother Sam here have some work to do." Dean glanced around Tilly once more. "So if you'd just step aside."

Dean took a step towards Tilly triggering her into action. Without a second thought, she quickly held down the button to the mace. The spray shot straight into Dean's unsuspecting face, a loud yelp being his immediate response as he rose his hands to rub at his eyes.

"What the hell!" He yelled as coughed loudly.

Tilly felt her own eyes begin to sting as the mace caught the wind and she blinked blearily. Coughing slightly, she threw the mace down as she stared at Dean harshly. After a few moments of wiping at his eyes, the young man finally rose his face from his hands. His expression was one of sheer anger as he glared at the brunette woman.

"What the hell was that for?"

"Don't ever call me that again." Tilly replied in a low voice.

"Filly?" Dean asked, a small smirk playing on his lips as he blinked away a few more tears.

"Do you want to get sprayed again?" Tilly challenged.

Dean lifted his hands in a sign of surrender. "No offense was meant, Til. I thought you knew it had always been meant as a compliment." Tilly didn't miss the mocking tone in his voice.

"Please," She replied sarcastically. "I wasn't oblivious to how I looked in high school. I was a chubby girl with crooked teeth and glasses. Calling me 'Filly' was in no way a compliment."

Dean couldn't help but let a small chuckle leave his lips causing Tilly to glare harder at him. "Look," He started. "I didn't mean any harm by it. I can see that you've changed since the high school days."

Tilly's expression didn't soften. She waited a moment before asking, "What are you doing here, anyways? I know you aren't a detective. You dropped out of high school before we graduated."

"You caught me." Dean smirked. "I'm not a detective, but Sammy here is. Ain't that right, Sam?"

Tilly glanced at the younger brother. He looked frantically at his brother before a guilty smile slid its way over his lips. "Uh, sure."

"Where's your badge?" Tilly questioned.

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn leather case. He flipped it open and Tilly scanned over the contents.

"Does it pass your inspection?" Dean questioned dryly.

"The name on here says Bob Dylan." Tilly stated flatly. "You honestly thought you could impersonate a detective by using the name of a famous 60's musician?"

"It works more often than you would think," Dean replied with a grin. Tilly resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Why are you really here?" The psychiatrist questioned, her hands finding her hips as she stared at the two brothers.

Dean sighed in annoyance. "We have a sort of hobby investigating weird happenings. We heard about the missing asylum patient and thought we'd check it out."

Tilly didn't miss a beat. "Well, there's nothing weird happening here. Mr. Palmer came back to this house because of the events that happened here in his past."

Sam took a step forwards to comment, "But that doesn't explain why he drowned."

The young woman's dark eyes darted to the other Winchester. "He was diagnosed with clinical depression and intense schizophrenia. He could have been having an episode when he approached the lake. The possibilities of his death are endless."

"Look Til," Dean started. "We really just need to take a look at the body."

"There's nothing to see." Tilly replied. "He drowned. End of story."

Dean smirked. "Even I can tell you're lying, Tilly."

The brunette glared at the elder brother, her ears picking up the distant sound of sirens as the three remained in a sort of stand off. "There's the police now," She stated. "I think we better let them handle it."

The two brothers appeared annoyed by the presence of the police, but neither said anything as the crowd began to gather around Bernard's corpse. Once the police and ambulance had arrived Tilly lost the Winchesters in the throng of people. Glancing around the many faces, she decided to push the incident with them to the back of her mind as she once again retold her side of the story to the police. Watching as the paramedics loaded the bag containing Bernard into the back of the ambulance, the young woman sighed. Climbing up the side of the hill towards the house, she quickly made her way back into her vehicle before pulling out of the driveway and down the small road.

Reaching her slender hand up, Tilly softly wiped at her misty eyes. She had gone into psychiatry knowing that she couldn't fix everyone, but never had she imagined having to deal with the death of a patient so suddenly. What saddened her more was the fact that Bernard _was _treatable. Not only was he the treatable type of patient, but he also wasn't any sort of convict. He had no history of a criminal record. He was a broken man who just happened to witness the drowning of his young daughter. His death was anything but deserved.

Tilly's jaw was tightly clenched as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Holding the device up to her ear, she held back a sob as she heard Grace's smooth voice answer. "Hi Grace." She started, upset to hear her own voice crack.

"Is everything alright, Dr. Evans?" Grace asked, concern lacing her voice. Tilly knew she wouldn't be able to hide the emotion in her tone; Grace was far too observant with those sorts of things.

"Not exactly," Tilly responded. "I found Bernard dead behind his lake house."

The line went quiet for a brief moment before Grace asked, "How did it happen?"

"No one knows for certain at the moment. The police are saying that he could have drowned himself. It could be possible, except..." Tilly hesitated.

"Except what?"

"Except, when I pulled him out of the water his entire face was maimed. It was like some sort of animal had mauled him. I checked his body, but there was no blood." Tilly's mind ran over the details of the memory. "It just seemed odd."

"What did the police say about that?" Grace asked curiously.

"They weren't sure why his face was so beat up. They're going to wait for the autopsy results before releasing the cause of death." Tilly sniffed, her eyes bleary with liquid once more.

Silence again encompassed the phone line before Grace asked, "So when should I expect you back at the office?"

"That's actually why I was calling." The brunette responded. "Could you do me a favor and cancel the rest of my appointments today? In fact, can you cancel them for the rest of the week? I need some time to myself before any more sessions."

"Sure," Grace complied gently.

After a few more moments the call was ended. Tilly sighed, her throat still tight as she kept the tears from falling. She hated that she was weak, but more importantly she hated that she couldn't save everyone. Yes, she had come to terms with the reality of her profession. It still affected her, though. She never could stop the emotions these sorts of accidents brought out. Knowing there was only one solution to her emotionally wrecked state, Tilly pressed down the gas pedal and headed towards the comfort of the local bar. No solace came close to the type offered to her by her good friend Jack Daniels.


	3. Mad World

Author's Note: Thank you to Amy90 for the review and also to everyone else who added the story to their alerts! Enjoy chapter three!

Disclaimer: Nothing of Supernatural belongs to me.

* * *

><p><em>All around me are familiar faces<em>

_Worn out places, worn out faces_

_Bright and early for their daily races_

_Going nowhere, going nowhere_

_Their tears are filling up their glasses_

_No expression, no expression_

_Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow_

_No tomorrow, no tomorrow_

_And I find it kinda funny_

_I find it kinda sad_

_The dreams in which I'm dying_

_Are the best I've ever had_

_I find it hard to tell you_

_I find it hard to take_

_When people run in circles_

_It's a very, very mad world mad world_

_ —Gary Jules_

The young brunette sipped eagerly at the liquid within the small glass in her hands. The sharp taste of the whiskey stung the back of her throat and quenched her emotional thirst. She smiled slightly as the sensations of a small buzz began to tingle within her head. She sighed, her hand lowering the drink to the bar as she leaned against the wood. It had been a few days since Bernard's death and yet she couldn't get the image of his unidentifiable, mangled face out of her head. He haunted her dreams during all hours of the night and plagued the shadows of mind throughout the daylight. Even now she could see his beaten face reflected in her half-empty glass. She glanced away from the drink, her jaw tightening as she blinked her eyes.

"You know," Tilly heard from behind her. She listened halfheartedly as the smooth, low voice spoke. "There are quite a few beautiful women in this bar, but I just can't seem to take my eyes off of you."

"Does that pick-up line actually work?" Tilly asked sarcastically, her head turning in the direction of the voice.

"It got your attention, didn't it?" Her eyes widened as she was met with the grinning face of Dean Winchester.

Immediately her expression changed into an irritated glare. Grasping the drink in her hands, she took a harsh sip before replying, "Look, I'm not really in the mood to reminisce about the good old days when you'd cheat off my tests and throw paper wads at me in class so if you'd be so kind as to leave me alone, I'd greatly appreciate it."

"Still the same sassy Filly, I see." Dean chuckled, his body moving so that he could seat himself next to the young woman. He flagged the bartender over and ordered a beer.

"I thought I told you to stop calling me that," Tilly replied in annoyance.

"Old habits die hard, I guess." Dean's smirk was starting to become rather aggravating and Tilly felt a slight impulse to wipe the expression right off of his face. Instead she took a shallow breath and remained calm.

"So what is it you want, Winchester?" Tilly eyed the man. He grabbed his beer before answering, his lips hugging the rim as he took a long gulp from the bottle. Sighing as he lowered it from his mouth, Dean turned his attention back on her.

"You know, you really have changed since the high school days, Tilly." He stated, acting oblivious to her previous question. "So how did it happen?"

"How did what happen?"

"How did you get so hot since the last time I saw you?"

Tilly couldn't help but let a disbelieving laugh escape her lips. She cleared her throat and took a sip from her Jack Daniels to compose herself, though a small smile still graced her lips. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Let me guess. You turned into one of those wild girls after high school, didn't you? You were all books and braces back then, but after graduation I bet you took a few pole dancing classes and woke up one morning with a tattoo of a guy's name in a spot you're not too proud of." Dean was grinning as he finished. "Am I right?"

Tilly raised a brow at the man, astounded at his presumptions. Did the man have no sort of filter or did he just think it was appropriate to speak his mind? "Not exactly." She retorted.

"Well, something happened." Dean continued. "Because hell, I wasn't lying earlier. I can't take my eyes off of you."

"You can stop with the mocking, Winchester." The young psychiatrist shot back. "I know you well enough to recognize when you're being sarcastic."

"You got me all wrong, Til." Dean began, but Tilly quickly intervened.

"Just tell me what it is you want from me or leave now. Take your pick." She sipped some more at her drink, the buzz bringing about tingling within her head once again. Her muscles slowly relaxed as she took another long gulp of the fiery alcohol.

Dean's cocky grin and casual expression suddenly morphed into a look of pure seriousness as he kept his eyes on Tilly. "Alright, I wanted to ask you what you saw at the lake the other day."

"What about it?" Tilly responded tightly, her throat clenching at the thought of Bernard and the chilly waters behind his house.

"Did you see anything that might have seemed odd when you went to your patient's house?" Dean's eyes were scrutinizing as they scanned over her face and Tilly wondered why he was so interested in her patient.

"Not really. The place was quiet when I got there. Mr. Palmer was already dead when I found him." A small shiver ran down the young woman's spine as she recalled her failed rescue attempt. She quickly gulped down the rest of her whiskey.

"And nothing happened before you found him?"

Suddenly an image of the harvest-tinted eyes peering through the dark woods flashed in Tilly's mind. She felt her hand shake as she pushed her empty glass away from her. She hesitated a moment, her eyes on Dean as he continued to stare intently at her. She knew he was trying to read her emotions. "What's your interest in it, anyways? You still haven't told me what your job is and why you're so concerned with the death of an asylum patient."

"Tilly," Dean answered sternly. "If something..." He paused, "...out of the ordinary happened when you went to go find your patient, you need to tell me."

"I don't think I'm allowed to speak about the events that happened that day." Tilly shot back.

"Fine." The man sighed as he sat back on the stool, his arms crossing over his broad chest. "Can you tell me anything interesting about your patient up until his death? Anything he said that might have seemed strange during your sessions with him?"

Tilly couldn't help but laugh at Dean's question. "Of course he said things that didn't make sense during our sessions. He was a diagnosed schizophrenic who lived in a mental institution."

"Right," Dean muttered with a slightly embarrassed smirk. His brow was raised in questioning, though, and Tilly knew he wasn't going to give up until he had some answers.

"Look, I can't tell you anything about him. There is such a thing as doctor-patient confidentiality. I could loss my job if I share any details of our sessions with you."

Dean looked disappointed as he uncrossed his arms and leaned against the bar. Sighing in irritation, he scooted closer to Tilly as he spoke. "Listen Til, if you don't give me some answers, your patient's death might only be the first of many."

Tilly didn't particularly like the way his warm breath hit her face as the proximity between them grew thin. Letting her eyes fall into angered slits, she glared at the man in front of her. "Are you threatening me?"

A slightly amused smirk found its way to Dean's lips. "You misunderstand me. I'm saying that whatever killed your patient is going to continue hunting the people in this town until everyone is dead. Your participation could help me stop this thing from hurting a lot of innocent people."

"What are you talking about? You know what killed Mr. Palmer?" Tilly asked with a skeptical frown.

Dean grinned. "So his death wasn't an accident, then."

"I never said that," Tilly fought back, her body leaning back in her seat so that she wasn't face to face with the Winchester brother.

"On the contrary, you just confirmed it." Dean stated, the cocky expression once again gracing his angular face.

Tilly glared at the man. "Fine." She paused. "I admit that I don't think his death was an accident."

"What makes you think it wasn't?"

The psychiatrist shrugged, a hand rising to brush a few long tendrils from her shoulder. "To anyone else, Mr. Palmer's death might seem like a suicide. He was clinically depressed and constantly suffered from episodes. Anyone could argue that he drowned himself out of guilt."

"Guilt over the death of his daughter?" Dean offered.

Tilly nodded. "But when I found him..." She took a shallow breath. "It's just, there was evidence of some sort of struggle."

"Why do you say that?"

Chocolate eyes darted to the young man. Hesitating for a moment, Tilly lightly nibbled on her lip anxiously. "When I turned him over, his face...it was completely unrecognizable."

Dean's brows were furrowed as he listened, his jaw set in a thoughtful line. "Like something attacked him?"

Tilly nodded once again. "But I don't know what would. Bears aren't native to this area and if it was a wolf his body would most likely have been in pieces. Plus, an animal attack doesn't explain why I found his body in the water."

Dean didn't say anything. Instead he continued to sit still, deep in thought. Finally he lifted his eyes. "Is there anything else you can tell me?"

The young woman bit her lip, unsure if she should tell him about the eyes. She quickly decided not to. She knew that he would most likely think her crazy for even believing a fantasy made up by her patient in the first place. She shook her head as she ordered another drink. Taking a long drink of the beer she held, she let out a deep breath as she lowered it to the bar. Tilly's eyes were slightly lidded as she looked back over at Dean; the buzz within her was spreading throughout her body.

Dean seem frustrated by her lack of knowledge on Bernard's death, but she didn't really care. Honestly, she didn't really want to help whatever cause he was a part of anyways. Leaning her head against her hand, Tilly sighed. "So Winchester," She started. "Tell me again what you do for a living. I must have missed your answer the last few times I asked."

Dean smirked, amused by Tilly's obvious sarcasm. "Tell me about Mr. Palmer's sessions and I'll tell you the details of my career."

"You know what," Tilly slurred slightly, the buzz suddenly kicking in full force as she took a few sips from her frosty beer. "I've just decided I really don't care that much about what you do. So why don't you just go chitchat with that blondie in the corner whose been putting her seduction stare on you for the last twenty minutes." She motioned towards the pool tables across the bar where said blonde was located.

The young man glanced towards the other woman before turning back towards Tilly. His mouth never lost the sly smile he wore as he responded, "She's not what I'm interested in."

Tilly couldn't help but laugh in dry amusement. "The only reason you're interested in 'Tilly the Filly' is because of the information I may or may not have on my patient."

"You're a straight shooter." Dean observed with a chuckle and a raise of his brow. "I like that in a woman."

The psychiatrist scoffed. "So are you planning on pestering me all night? Because I would think all of those years in high school were enough."

Dean didn't seem perturbed by her comment as he answered, "If it gets me the information I need, then that's what I'll do."

Tilly groaned. "I came here to get drunk," She admitted. "So how about we make a deal? If you can beat me in a game of shots, I'll give you the information you want."

Dean's face took on a look of mock surprise. "I never took you for a drinker, Til."

"You said yourself that I've changed." Tilly shot back with a wry smirk.

"I guess I did," Dean agreed. Pausing for only a moment, he then nodded his head. "Alright, you've got yourself a deal. Are you sure you can handle a game of shots, though? You seem pretty buzzed as it is."

Tilly grinned amusedly. "Do you want to do this or not?"

"Fine, fine." Dean said, his hands up in slight surrender before turning towards the man behind the bar. "Bartender, two Jager Bombs."

Two Jager Bombs and four Tequila shots later, Tilly was beginning to feel the effects of her excessive alcohol ingestion. She reached a hand up to her head, the shot glass still held in her hand as she struggled to keep her eyes open. Pursing her lips together, the young woman breathed in heavily before letting out a long breath. Cracking her eyes open, she stared blurrily at Dean as he sat across from her. He quickly tilt his head back as he chugged the shot in his hand, his throat constricting as he swallowed hard. Tossing the empty glass down, he glanced at Tilly. His head nodded towards the full shot glass that had been placed in front of her on the bar. The brunette glared lightly, her pulse starting to pound within her head as she felt the first wave of nausea hit her. Swallowing thickly so as to not let the acidic liquid of her stomach over power her, Tilly set the empty glass down that she had been holding.

Grasping the full shot, she glanced once more at Dean. His broad lips were curved upwards in a cocky expression as his eyes encouraged her to finish the liquid. How the hell was he so put together? Tilly's eyes darted to the bar. Had he taken less shots than her? She tried to count the empty glasses in front of him, yet her vision kept doubling up as she tried and after her fourth attempt she finally decided that he was playing fair. It still annoyed the hell out of her that he didn't seem at all affected by the liquor that they had been pounding down.

"How many shots have we taken now?" Tilly asked, her jaw feeling heavy as it moved. She cringed at the slurred manner in which she pronounced each word. The last time she had been this drunk was freshman year of college. She was regretting it now just as much as she regretted it then.

"This will be our eighth shot." Dean replied arrogantly.

"That's all?" Tilly commented with a sloppy smirk.

Dean let out an amused laugh. "You really don't know when to quit, do you Tilly?"

"Well I'm sure as hell not letting you beat me." The brunette challenged, her face morphing into a harsh glower.

"You can barely sit up, let alone chug another shot." Dean stated. "I think this match is over for now."

Tilly pursed her lips before raising her glass to her mouth. Dean watched her apprehensively as she tilted her head back, the sour liquid burning her esophagus as she choked it down. Swallowing as quickly as she could, Tilly fought back an onslaught of coughs as she set the empty glass aside. She raised a challenging brow, a confident smile on her lips. "You were saying?"

Dean shook his head, a disbelieving expression on his face as he grasped his own shot. Without a moment's delay he quickly downed the liquor. Tilly's heavily lidded eyes watched as he set the glass down. Turning to grab her next one, the young woman suddenly felt the second wave of nausea hit her. Her hand clutched at her stomach as she bit back the sick feeling, her vision blurring suddenly. Blinking a few times, she groaned as the sensations of dizziness started to erupt within her. Small specks started to appear in her eyesight as she rested her other hand against the bar to steady herself. She could hear a dull voice calling out to her, but it sounded muffled and distant.

"I don't feel so good," Tilly slurred, her body slumping fully against the bar as she blacked out.

* * *

><p>Tilly groaned, her body aching as she felt herself slowly awaking from a heavy sleep. Sighing, she reached a hand up to her forehead as her pulse began to pound within her skull. Massaging her temples with her fingers, the young woman tried to remember why she was waking up with such a massive headache. Her mind flashed with images of Bernard, the bar, and a countless number of shots. <em>Oh God...<em>Cracking an eye open, the brunette cringed as sudden light met her vision.

"What the hell," She muttered as she moved her hand from her forehead to shield her aching eyes.

"About time you woke up, Sleeping Beauty."

Tilly felt her brow furrow at the deep voice, her mind not able to register who exactly was in the room. With another long groan, she stiffly sat up. Her hand moved from her eyes as she blinked them a few times, the room slowly coming into focus. Glancing around the area, she froze as she caught sight of Dean sitting in the chair occupying the far corner of her room. He rose from the seat, his hand extending a small coffee container to her. She stared at it without moving.

"How did you get into my house?" Tilly asked, her head hurting too much for her to muster up a glare.

"You mean to tell me you don't remember passing out last night?" Dean asked mockingly. Tilly felt her anger rise as his lips tilted upwards crookedly into his usual haughty smirk.

"I remember bits and pieces," She answered sheepishly.

"Well, I figured I wouldn't be much of a gentleman if I left you passed out against the bar." Dean stated.

"How did you find my keys?" Tilly asked as she took the coffee from him. She sipped at the warm liquid greedily.

Dean shrugged nonchalantly. "Went through your purse."

"Oh, yeah. You're a real gentleman." Tilly muttered with a roll of her eyes.

"You know you really should be thanking me." Dean continued. "I could have left you at that bar for any strange guy to take advantage of you while you were blacked out."

"I'm starting to wish you _had_ left me at that bar," Tilly replied sardonically. "Anyways, what's your real reason for taking me home last night? I know you don't get kicks out of helping women who have drank their weight's worth in liquor, let alone helping me. In high school you would have drawn on my face with a permanent marker or done something else to humiliate me. So what's the deal?"

"I don't recall doing that to you in high school." Dean answered with a raised brow, his tone teasing. "Then again, I don't remember you being such a heavy drinker either."

Tilly glared. "If you're going to be an asshole you might as well leave now."

"Alright, don't get your frilly little panties in a twist." Dean chuckled amusedly. "I'm here because we made a deal last night."

It was Tilly's turn to raise a brow. "Did we?"

Dean didn't miss a beat. "It was concerning your patient, Mr. Palmer. Ring a bell?"

The psychiatrist frowned. "You wanted to know about his sessions, right?"

The green-eyed man nodded, his stare becoming more and more serious as he once again took a seat in the chair at the end of the room.

"There's not much I can tell you about them," Tilly lied, unwilling to fork up the truth. She may have struck a deal with him last night, but if her liquor-filled memory served her correctly they had missed the handshake to solidify it. In her mind, she felt no obligation to tell the truth—or at least not the entire truth.

Dean took a gulp of his own coffee before asking, "Did he ever mention anything that might have hinted at his death? Any fears he might have had?"

Tilly shrugged as she sipped at her own drink. "He had dreams about his daughter's death. I tried to decrease the nightmares with medication, but he constantly forgot to take the prescription, so it didn't help much."

"What were his nightmares like?" Dean questioned.

"He told me that he'd always dream of a lake with a little girl drowning in the water. Sometimes he'd recognize Lucy, sometimes he wouldn't. He'd try to save her, but he never could." Tilly sighed. "His dreams are very common for someone suffering from PTSD."

"PTSD?"

"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder," Tilly clarified as she slowly stood from her bed. She glanced down, embarrassed to find herself still wearing her filthy outfit from the night before. Strolling over to her closet, she quickly opened the door to find some fresh clothes. The young woman could feel the heat of Dean's stare as she riffled through her clothes. The attention from the man made her uncomfortable, but she chose to ignore his actions. He was just trying to weasel out answers from her, his stare probably an attempt to intimidate her.

Pulling a shirt and pair of jeans from her shelf, she closed the closet and turned towards where Dean was seated. "The death of his daughter sort of unhinged Mr. Palmer and he started to suffer from the nightmares since the incident."

There was a moment's silence as the Dean held Tilly's gaze. His serious demeanor was very different from the attitude he possessed the night before, this change being somewhat unnerving for the young psychiatrist. She still had yet to find out why he wanted so much information on her patient; this fact only to the strangeness of their situation.

"Tilly," Dean began, but the young woman quickly cut him off.

"You can call me Dr. Evans," She stated harshly, her arms crossing over he chest as he rose a brow questioningly.

Dean chose to ignore the comment, though, as he continued, "Are you aware that your patient's death was not the first to happen in this area?"

"What are you talking about?"

Dean reached into his coat pocket, his hand pulling out a few folded pieces of paper. He opened them up and handed them to the psychiatrist. Each turned out to be copies of newspaper articles with circled sections of the obituaries.

"See the names that are circled," He started. "I did some research and discovered that each of those people had been patients at some sort of mental institution in the area. Two are former patients of Silver Creek. The reports of death for all of them stated suicide."

"What's your point?" Tilly asked, her hand tossing the papers back to him.

"I called up some of the nurses and psychiatrists that handled the patients and each told me a similar story to yours." He paused. "All of their patients reported having repeated nightmares about some sort of life-altering event that happened to them. Most involved the death of someone close. The workers also told me that they had doubts about their patients' suicides."

"And you think there's a correlation between Mr. Palmer and these other patients?" Tilly asked skeptically.

Dean nodded. "Now I'm just trying to figure out why each of these patients' deaths seem to be connected."

The room filled with a brief moment of silence before Tilly let out a laugh. Her laughter grew as she rose a hand to cover her mouth. "You're crazy."

Dean smiled dryly. "Yeah, I've been told that before."

"You honestly think Mr. Palmer's death and the death of those other patients' are connected?" Tilly's voice grew sterner as she continued. "They committed suicide. Probably because of severe depression or some other mental disease. That's it. End of story. It's not exactly a rare thing to have a patient kill himself."

Dean suddenly stood, the wry smile never leaving his lips. "Well, thanks for the information, Til. You've been a great help." He paused before adding, "Maybe after all of this is over we could go out for coffee sometime."

Tilly sensed the teasing in his tone. "You really think I'd go out to coffee with you, Winchester? I'd rather not get stood up like all of those desperate girls in high school."

"I had legitimate excuses," Dean argued.

"You mean the random hunting trips you went on with your dad," Tilly offered disdainfully.

"You heard about those?"

"You weren't just infamous in high school for being attractive," Tilly replied with a shrug.

An arrogant smirk spread across Dean's lips. "Did you just say that you think I'm hot?" Tilly glared as the young man chuckled in amusement. "I always knew you had a thing for me, Til."

"As if!" Tilly's voiced was raised as her expression morphed into an irritated glower. "You were an egotistical pig in high school and you still are."

"You can stay in denial all you want, Tilly," Dean teased. "But I can see it in your eyes. You want me."

Tilly held back an angered growl as she half-yelled, "Get out of my house!"

Her angered state continued well after Dean left, her blood boiling as she tossed her dirtied clothes into the hamper. After devouring a few painkillers, Tilly retreated to her at-home office to catch up on some paperwork. Grasping her glasses from her desk, she spent the rest of the day scanning over numerous patients' folders. Try as she might to concentrate on the information before her, though, she couldn't help as her mind wandered to the events of the last few days. Bernard's death had been foremost in her thoughts since the day she found him, yet now her mind seemed to focus on the strange man from her past.

She had never dreamt in a million years that she would see Dean Winchester again after he dropped out of high school senior year. Once graduated from the small high school, Tilly had left the state to attend college. After finishing her bachelor's degree, she once again moved to start her doctorate program. She had finally settled down here in Washington when offered a position at Silver Creek. Over the last five years she had been able to branch off from the mental institution, starting her own private clinic while maintaining her clientele from the asylum. It had now been a little over eight years since she had seen or heard of the Winchesters. For this reason, she found it exceedingly odd and fairly unfortunate on her part to have run into Dean after so long of a time.

While many students had taken opportunities to tease her in high school, none had been more passionate about lowering her self-esteem than Dean. If he wasn't cheating off of her schoolwork during class, then he was knocking the books out of her arms in the halls or calling her Tilly the Filly in front of the football team. She rarely found a break from his taunts and when she did, it was usually due to the random hunting trips Dean's father would take him on. Now so many years later, though, she felt that she finally had the upper hand. It wasn't just the fact that she had ditched the braces and grown out of her awkward stage that made her less intimidated by Dean. He finally needed something from her that only she could give him, yet she had held back some information. Not giving him the entire truth gave her a sense of power.

Smiling at the thought, Tilly decided to give her work a break and relax for the rest of the night. Pushing all thoughts of Bernard, Dean, and the events of the last week out of her head, the young woman left her office and plopped down on the couch. She sighed contently as she hugged one of the pillows, her body relaxing into the contours of the sofa.

Just as she was starting to feel the effects of being lulled into a comfortable sleep, the young woman's ears picked up the sound of footsteps resounding from down the hall. Her brow furrowed as she opened her eyes, her gaze darting around the room. The area was dimly lit as she searched around the expanse of it, yet nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She sat still, her heart rate suddenly accelerating as she heard the footsteps again.

"Hello?" She called. Standing from the couch, she slowly made her way down the hall towards her room. Anger lifted up within her as she called out, "Dean, is that you? I swear to God if you broke into my house..."

Tilly stopped as she reached her room, her eyes growing wide as she stared into the dimness of the area. Standing beside her bed was a tall shadowed creature, it's glowing eyes staring intently at her as it released a dangerously low snarl.

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><p>Read and Review!<p> 


	4. Mrs Robinson

Author's Note: And so the story progresses. The Winchester's will make another appearance in the next chapter so keep reading. Thank you to ClanaFan01 and DeanLover for the reviews!

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Supernatural.

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><p><em>And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson<em>

_Jesus loves you more than you will know _

_God bless you please, Mrs. Robinson_

_Heaven holds a place for those who pray_

_We'd like to know a little bit about you for our files_

_We'd like to help you learn to help yourself_

_Look around you, all you see are sympathetic eyes_

_Stroll around the grounds until you feel at home_

_And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson_

_Jesus loves you more than you will know _

_God bless you please, Mrs. Robinson_

_Heaven holds a place for those who pray_

—_Simon and Garfunkle_

Tilly stood frozen as her eyes took in the sneering creature before her. Breathing in a ragged breath, the being suddenly seemed to grow larger as it stood at its full height, long arms hanging down on each side. Tilly attempted to see any sort of details, but the darkness of the room impaired her vision; she could only make out the silhouette of the beast. Her mouth clamped shut as she muffled a fearful gasp. Long, pointed fingers twitched menacingly next to the foreboding entity, its growls growing all the louder as the two continued to stand their ground. Taking a shaky breath, Tilly finally broke her stare away from the shadowed creature, her eyes turning towards the light switch on the wall next to her.

Deciding that it did her no good to not know what it was she was faced against, the young woman quickly reached for the lights. Flipping the switch, her eyes frantically darted back towards her bed. She felt them widen as she stared at the empty room, the sinister creature nowhere to be found. Hesitantly, Tilly left her place at the doorway to wander slowly into the room. Her eyes searched the perimeter, yet everything seemed normal. What in the world was going on? That _thing_ had felt so real. Her mind suddenly flashed with the memory of her last session with Bernard.

_"That's the thing, Doc," He began, his voice shaky. "I'm startin' to think it's not just a dream. Recently when I wake up, the eyes that I see...I can still see them. Usually I see them reflected in the mirror...sometimes they're in the window. I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me, but every time I see those eyes they get brighter and brighter. This weekend when it happened, I could have sworn they were in the room with me. I heard breathing too..." _

_ "Did you turn on the light? Did you investigate the room to see what you heard breathing?" _

_ Bernard shook his head. "I kept staring at the eyes trying to make out what kind of creature it was. All I remember seeing is a dark shadow, but I must have fallen asleep because next thing I knew I was waking up and it was light outside." _

_ "And there was no evidence of something being in your room when morning came?" Tilly asked. _

_ "Not that I could find. Everything seemed to be in order." _

Tilly felt her body overcome with a cold sweat as the words replayed in her head. _Everything seemed to be in order_. Bernard had been so convinced that the orange-eyed creature had been real, yet when he turned on the lights there was no evidence that anything had ever been in his presence. The psychiatrist swallowed thickly. Whatever Bernard had experienced, she too was starting to see and hear it. Reaching a clammy hand up to her head, she slowly raked her fingers through her hair as she continued to stand in confusion and fear.

"I'm going insane," She muttered, her eyes still keeping a look out for anything that might be moving in her room.

After a few more moments of uncertainty, she finally decided to leave the area. As she wandered back down the hall, her mind began to play over the short, strange encounter. "This just can't be real." She decided. "This is crazy...me, a clinician, actually experiencing the same thing as my patient. It has to be my imagination..."

Tilly recalled a lesson from one of her undergrad courses. The professor had briefly taught on the subject of fears being shared between the patient and the clinician. Tilly had been great at empathizing with patients _about _what they were frightened of, but she never actually _experienced _what it was that troubled them. She thought of Bernard's death and the impact it had had on her. She hadn't been able to see any of her other patients all week. Thinking back on it now, cancelling her sessions was fairly unprofessional of her to do, yet she had found herself unable to give counsel to them after what she had seen. Bernard's death had been traumatic for her, his manner of passing even more distressing. She had still yet to hear what the autopsy results had found the reason of his death to be, which only further unnerved her. She figured, though, that she was beginning to see what Bernard saw due to the shock of his sudden death and the grief she felt over his drowning. His passing had affected her more than she had expected it would and so she assumed his fears were projected on her because of the guilt she felt for not being able to cure him in his lifetime. She had known from the first session with him that he was treatable and so his untimely demise made her feel cheated of her chance to give him the opportunity for a second possibility at a normal life.

Dwelling on this conclusion of why she was seeing the glowing eyes, Tilly felt a sense of comfort wash over her as the night progressed. By the time she finally did fall asleep, all thoughts of the creature, Bernard's death, and the fear that came with them were gone.

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><p><em>Tilly clamped her hands over her ears as she heard the sound of the downstairs door slamming shut. Her father's raised voice floated up the stairs and surrounded her as she lay in her small bed. Shutting her eyes, she tried desperately to drown out the sound, his voice causing fear to spark up in her being. Her mother's shrill voice suddenly sounded and she knew that the yelling match had begun. Biting anxiously on her lower lip, she tried frantically to remember if she had reminded her father to take his medication that morning. Try as she might to remember, she still couldn't recall giving him the daily dose he required. She recalled taking extra long in the bathroom that morning because she had a class with the boy she liked that day and she hoped to impress him by experimenting with some makeup. She had taken so long getting ready that she had almost been late for the bus. She had to eat her breakfast on the way to the bus stop just to get there in time. Oh God...in her rush she must have forgotten to give her dad his pills and she knew that if she didn't remind him then he would either forget to take them or just simply not take them out of selfish pride. He had always argued that he didn't need them, but Tilly knew otherwise. <em>

_ Uncovering her ears, the small girl listened as silence suddenly encompassed the house. Her brow furrowed as she sat up in bed, the covers falling from around her body. The quietness continued as she left the confines of her room and ventured into the hallway. Grasping the railing of the stairs, she peeked over them to see if she could make out what was happening. Not able to see her mom or dad, Tilly took a small breath before mustering up the courage to investigate what was going on. Slowly she descended down the stairs, the cold wood sending chills from the bottom of her feet to the tips of her fingers. She grasped the railing tightly as she reached the end of the stairs. _

_ As she stood at the bottom of the staircase, her ears picked up the sounds of soft sobs. Glancing around the main room, she caught sight of a person seated on the far sofa. "Mom?" Tilly called shakily. _

_ The elder woman straightened from her hunched position, her shoulders trembling as she turned towards Tilly. Her eyes were bloodshot and dripping with tears as she stood from the couch. She quickly left the main room, her arms grasping Tilly's shoulders as she demanded in a shrill voice, "Did you give your father his medication this morning?" _

_ Tilly felt tears spring up in the corners of her eyes as her mother's hold on her tightened. She could feel the start of bruises as the elder woman's fingers pressed ruthlessly into her flesh. "M-mom," The small girl stuttered. "Pl-please let go. You're h-hurting me."_

_ "Answer the question, Matilda." Her mother persisted. "Did you or did you not give him his pills?"_

_ "I don't remember," Tilly replied guiltily. "I was late this morning...I thought I had..."_

_ Her mother's expression took on a look of both anger and fear as she whispered tightly, "Do you realize what you've done?" _

_ "I'm sorry," Tilly offered, yet her mother's grip on her didn't lessen. _

_ "You know what happens when he doesn't take his medication. Haven't I warned you that without it he's a danger to himself and to us?" Her mothers's voice was piercing as she softly shook her daughter. _

_ "I forgot," Tilly sobbed, the tears burning as they trailed down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry..."_

_ "Just go back to your room," Her mom demanded, her hands finally releasing the small girl. Tilly quickly reached up to rub at her sore arms, the skin aching with fresh bruises. _

_ "I promise I won't forget again," Tilly assured. _

_ Her mother didn't reply, her countenance still cold as she continued to stare at her daughter. The sound of shuffling feet suddenly arose and Tilly watched as her mother's eyes suddenly flashed with sheer panic. Standing from her bent position, the small girl watched as her elder woman's shoulders stiffened, the footsteps growing louder. _

_ "Mom?" Tilly questioned quietly._

_ "Go to your room, Matilda." Her mother demanded. "Now."_

_ Tilly didn't hesitate as her mother turned from her and drifted back into the front room. As she climbed the wooden stairs once more, Tilly paused. She could hear her parent's confrontation clearly as she stood pressed against the railing. Peering through the banister, her russet eyes watched as her father entered the main room. Her mother stood across from him, her hands ringing nervously in front of her. "Alan?" The elder woman asked in a soft voice. _

_ Alan didn't respond as he stared despondently at Tilly's mother, his expression unreadable to the small girl. _

_ "Are you still upset?" Her mother questioned. _

_ No hesitation followed as her father immediately bellowed, "What the hell do you think? You're damn right I'm still upset!"_

_ "Alan, just calm down," Her mother soothed, her hand reaching up as if to touch her father's shoulder. Alan quickly jerked away from the woman's comforting touch. _

_ "How can I calm down? You're trying to poison me!"_

_ "No," Her mother argued. "You have to take these pills daily, Alan. Remember? Your psychiatrist prescribed them. They're supposed to help you control your emotions."  
><em>

_ "You lying bitch," Alan spat. "You think I'm that stupid? I don't need any damn pills. You're trying to kill me!"_

_ "Alan, please...I'm your wife." The woman whispered softly, her voice cracking slightly with emotion. "You have to trust me."_

_ A moment passed between them as they stood frozen in place, each staring at one another before Alan suddenly pulled his hand out from behind him. He stood poised, his hand pointing a loaded pistol at his wife. The man's hand trembled as he stayed locked in position, his face a flurry of anger and confusion._

_ "Alan!" Her mother cried. "What the hell do you think you're doing!"_

_ Tilly watched with wide eyes as her father took a step closer to her mother, the elder woman stepping back in fright. Her hands instantly flew up in surrender as she backed away from the man slowly. "Alan, please...think about what you're doing."_

_ Alan didn't respond, his face contorted into an unreadable expression as he stalked closer to his wife. He stopped suddenly, his hand cocking the gun. Panic overwhelmed Tilly as she watched, her mind racing. Deciding to intervene, she quickly dashed down the stairs and stood in front of her mother. Her hands guarded the elder woman as she stared up fearfully at her crazed father, his eyes darting down to gaze at her in uncertainty._

_ "Matilda, I told you to stay in your room!" Her mother shrieked._

_ Tilly didn't answer her as she stared up at her father. "Daddy," She whispered. "What are you doing?" _

_ Alan's eyes stayed transfixed down on the lithe form of his daughter, his gaze taking in her shaking limbs. Suddenly his expression of anger melted away as a violent sob raked his body. Hunching over, thick tears filtered from his eyes as he whimpered with emotion. "Oh, Tilly," He choked out. "I'm so sorry, baby...I'm so sorry..."_

_ Tilly watched with bewilderment as her father's mood drastically changed within a matter of seconds, his hands reaching up to cover his face as he sobbed profusely. "I'm so sorry..." He continued to mutter, his voice cracking as his emotions began to overwhelm him. _

_ Suddenly his hand with the gun moved, the barrel pointed at himself. "Daddy, what are you doing?" Tilly questioned with alarm. "Put the gun down!"_

_ The man didn't listen to her as he continued to point the weapon at himself, the end of the gun rising to rest against his head. "I'm so sorry..." He repeated, his eyes on his daughter as he whimpered pitifully. _

_ "Alan, don't..." Tilly's mother pleaded, her own voice shaking in terror. _

_ The seconds seemed to last forever as the three stood silently, the only sound being that of the ticking grandfather clock in the kitchen. It felt like a timer counting down the seconds before the unimaginable happened. They all waited; they all watched each other. Alan's hand was shaking severely as he kept the weapon pressed against his crown. His tear-swelled eyes were on his daughter, the fluid from his eyes burning wet trails down his gruff face._

"_Daddy?" Tilly whispered. Her only answer was a loud bang that shook the house. The little girl watched in terror as her father's lifeless body crumpled to the ground before her. _

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><p>Tilly awoke with a start, her breathing shallow as she gasped for air. Blinking her eyes rapidly, she was startled to find that her vision was blurred. Reaching a hand up, she wiped at her visage. Tears pooled around the valleys of her eyes and cascaded down her soft cheeks. She sniffed, her fingers wiping away the salty wetness. Sitting up, she let her head rest in her hands as her body began to calm from the anxious state she had woken up in. She could feel her heart racing in her chest as the hairs on her neck continued to stand on end. Tilly sighed deeply, pushing the covers back from her body as she let her body temperature cool. She hadn't dreamt of her father's death in at least ten years. She had thought the five years of therapy and nightly dosage of sleeping pills were enough; they had worked well for the last few years.<p>

The young woman glanced at her nightstand. The glass of water and sleeping pills lay untouched on the wooden table. She wasn't surprised that she forgot to take them. She had been so concerned with her fearfully vivid imagination last night; sleeping pills had been the last thing on her mind. With a groan, she fell back into her pillows as her mind replayed the dream within her head.

She had been twelve when her father committed suicide in front of her. He had been diagnosed with a severe case of bipolar disorder when she was about five years of age. Before he started taking his medication, Alan's mood would be unpredictable when he would come home from work. Tilly and her mother had gotten used to bracing themselves for the worst. Some days he would be cheerful, others lethargic, and more often then not he would come home in a fit of rage. When he finally consented to be checked out by a psychiatrist, the doctor found that he did indeed have an emotional disorder. It took a full year for him to swallow his selfish pride and start taking the medication. When Tilly hit ten years old it became her responsibility to make sure he swallowed his dosage of pills before she left for school. She hadn't slipped up or forgotten to remind her father until the day of his death.

Tilly shivered, a cool sweat breaking out over her skin as images of her father and the pistol he held flashed through her memories. Breathing in deeply, she quickly stood from her bed and made her way towards the bathroom. After turning on the shower, she glanced in the mirror at her reflection. Her skin was pale and her face gaunt. Shadows were cast around her eyes, dark circles located under her chocolate orbs. Her hair was matted to her face—a result of the night sweat. She let another low sigh leave her lips as she stripped down and stepped into the shower. It was going to be a long day.

Calling in to her office, Tilly felt a sense of comfort when Grace answered the phone. "Hi Grace," She responded.

"Dr. Evans," Grace's voice was laced with concern. "How are you today?"

"I'm doing well, actually," Tilly lied, thoughts of her nightmare creeping into the back of her mind. "I was calling to ask about my schedule for today."

"Right, hold on a moment." Grace answered, the sound of her keyboard being tapped on resounding in the background. "Looks like today you have an appointment in an hour with Mrs. Robinson at Silver Creek."

"Great, thanks." Tilly bid her goodbyes before hanging up her phone and turning down the street towards the familiar mental institution.

Pulling up the long, cemented driveway, she let her eyes wander over the exterior of the large building as she drove around to the private parking area. Flashing the guard her visitor's pass, she proceeded inside. Once parked, she quickly locked her vehicle and headed towards the asylum. Her gaze scanned over the landscape behind the institution, a large garden accompanied by a field occupying the area around the place. Nurses escorted patients around the grounds, some being defiant while others cooperated. Two orderlies held tightly to the wrists of a man whose shouting drowned out all other noise. He was trembling as his wild eyes darted around for help. Tilly felt a pang of sympathy for the creature. Although most of the patients at Silver Creek were there because of criminal backgrounds, she couldn't help but feel sorry for them. It wasn't their faults that their minds decided to over or under produce the appropriate chemicals to keep them sane. It still amazed Tilly after years of practicing in the field that the mind held so much power over the body. One little imbalance in a person's system could send them over the edge.

She pushed the discomforting thoughts out of her mind as she nodded a thanks to the nurse who stood with the door opened for her. Strolling inside the main lobby, Tilly smiled at the two receptionists seated behind the front counter. "Hello, Dr. Evans," They greeted, each returning her smile.

"Who are you here for?" The woman, who Tilly remembered was named Pamela, asked politely.

"I believe I have an appointment with Mrs. Robinson." Tilly replied, her arm leaning smoothly against the counter as she waited patiently.

"Right," Pamela responded, her eyes searching the screen of her computer before confirming the appointment. "Here it is. Let me just get your pass for you." The receptionist reached inside her top drawer before pulling out Tilly's badge. She handed it over with a wide upwards turn of the lips.

"Thanks," Tilly murmured before stringing the small pass around her neck.

"By the way," Pamela called after her. "Mrs. Robinson had another little mental melt down a few days ago, so don't expect too much out of her. She's been exhausted ever since."

Tilly nodded before leaving to venture down the first hallway. Pulling her purse further up onto her shoulder, she paused as she heard the familiar voice of her female patient emanating from her room. She eased up to the doorway, surprised to find the door open. Mrs. Robinson was seated in her wheelchair by the window, her fragile hands holding a small beaded necklace with a cross attached to it. Along the walls hung random crucifixes, the far wall holding up a large painting with a verse Tilly was not familiar with.

"Our Father who art in Heaven," Mrs. Robinson's voice was faint as she prayed. "Hallowed be Thy name. Your Kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us today our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses..."

Tilly sighed, her vision staying on the elder woman as she waited for her to finish. It wasn't that she didn't believe in the woman's religion, or even that she had any sort of resentment towards it. After eight years of learning and practicing in a field where religion is far from logical, though, she found it hard to find the time or patience to try and believe in some sort of higher being. She believed in what was in front of her; she believed in what was tangible. Innocent, normal people suddenly going insane...those were the things that didn't make sense to her and caused her faith to be shaken. Sure, she had a doctorate in psychiatry and knew the mechanics of what caused people to lose their minds, but it still didn't complete the entire puzzle. Why did seemingly pure people have to go crazy? Why did Mrs. Robinson, a church-goer from Tennessee, have to suddenly become a homicidal maniac? Why did her father, a man who refused to even kill spiders, have to lose all restraints and murder himself? No matter how many years of schooling she had under her belt, she would never fully understand why some people were chosen for damnation and others could live out the length of their lives untouched by the evil she saw on a daily basis.

"As we forgive them that trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen." Mrs. Robison's hand gripped a bit tighter to the necklace before she finally reached over to place it upon the windowsill in front of her.

"Mrs. Robinson?" Tilly called, her heels clicking as she entered the small room. She saw a soft smile flutter over the elder woman's face.

"Tilly," Mrs. Robinson responded. "How many times must I tell you to call me Susanne? Mrs. Robinson was my mother-in-law."

"Sorry," Tilly apologized with a tilt upwards of her lips. Pulling a chair around the bed, she placed it in front of Mrs. Robinson before seating herself in it. "So how are you today?"

Mrs. Robinson sighed, her eyes wandering back towards the window as she replied, "I've been better. I'm sure the nurses told you about my episode the other day." She glanced at Tilly.

The psychiatrist nodded causing Mrs. Robinson to smirk dryly. "I thought they would."

"Can you tell me what happened? What triggered the episode?"

The elder woman looked up at her doctor, the expression on her face falling into one of slight fear. Her lips trembled as she frowned, her eyes scrutinizing Tilly's own visage. With a slight stutter, her face took on a look of forced humor as she stated, "You know, I petitioned a request for release last week."

Tilly rose a brow, not fighting the sudden switch of topics. The nurses had already informed her that Mrs. Robinson was on edge and pushing her might cause the woman to have another episode. It was better to let her control the conversation, even if it meant avoiding a significant issue.

"And what did the nurses say?" Tilly asked.

Mrs. Robinson chuckled lightly. "I'm sure you know. They denied my petition and told me that a few more years wouldn't hurt me."

"Susanne..." Tilly began, but the elder woman cut her off as she raised her wrinkled hand into the air.

"You don't have to tell me, Tilly. I know why I'm here and I know why I'll never be able to leave." The smile on her face wasn't one of embitterment or even sadness. Mrs. Robinson always requested excusal from the institution, yet Tilly could tell that deep down she was content here. After a life of confusion, heartache, and pain, the elder woman had found solace at Silver Creek. "If you ask me, though, axing your husband to death because he was having an affair doesn't seem like such a bad crime."

A forced smile fell on Tilly's lips as she ignored her patient's last statement, instead asking, "Have you been taking your medication, Susanne?"

The elder woman nodded. "Every day, just as you told me to. Ever since Mr. Palmer's death I haven't skipped a day. You know, before he died sometimes I'd pretend to take my pills and then bury them in the garden outside. I just didn't like the way they made me feel...but now, now I take them everyday."

The young psychiatrist frowned. "How did you hear about Mr. Palmer's death?"

"I was out on the grounds having a smoke and two of the nurses were talking about it. They said he didn't take his medication, an episode was triggered, and he had an accident. Apparently he went back to his old house and drowned himself. He was always such a nice man and not nearly as insane as the rest of us." Mrs. Robinson winked in twisted humor.

"Yes," Tilly agreed with her patient's story. "It was an accident. That's what the nurses are saying, right?"

Mrs. Robinsons shrugged. "That's what they're _saying_."

Tilly's brow furrowed. "You sound as if you don't believe them."

The elder woman hesitated as her face took on the same fearful expression as before when asked about her latest episode. She brought her aged hands together and began ringing them anxiously. Her eyes were downcast and Tilly could make out small movements of her chapped lips as she muttered things to herself quietly.

"Susanne?" Tilly asked quietly, her hand reaching out to softly sit on Mrs. Robinson's knee. "Are you alright?"

Mrs. Robinson's eyes darted upwards to meet Tilly's gaze, her fearful expression now replaced by determination. "We can talk about something else if you'd like," Tilly suggested, but the elder woman shook her head.

"No...I have a second chance...God doesn't give many people those." Her voice was a gruff whisper as she spoke.

"A second chance? To do what?"

The young psychiatrist watched as Mrs. Robinson paused before responding, "To save a life."

"What are you talking about?" Tilly questioned, too distracted to take notes.

Mrs. Robinson seemed uncertain, yet quickly let go of her doubt as she divulged, "You see, I had a vision from God a few nights before Mr. Palmer died."

"A vision from God?" Tilly repeated with a raised brow. She figured this was going to be one of the elder woman's stories again. Mrs. Robinson was known for making up 'visions' she had of things happening. She had yet to predict anything that actually came true—unless you could count her prediction that the pea soup two weeks would give everyone food poisoning.

"Yes, that was what caused my first episode." The patient confirmed. "I was outdoors reading a book when the vision happened."

Knowing that there was no choice but to hear the whole story out, the psychiatrist asked, "And what was in this vision?"

"I saw Mr. Palmer." The lady replied. "I saw him having horrible nightmares about his daughter. He woke up screaming about her and the lake. Then my vision skipped to his lake house...it didn't show how he died, but I saw him lying lifeless in the water. Before the vision ended I saw a pair of deep orange eyes staring at me. When I came out of the vision I was so frightened my nerves must have triggered an episode."

Tilly sat speechless, her hand shaking as she retracted it from Mrs. Robinson's knee. "And you said you had this vision a few days before Mr. Palmer's death?

The elder woman nodded.

"Why didn't you tell anyone about it? A nurse? Or me?"

"I was afraid no one would believe me." Mrs. Robinson stated. "I've had visions before and they haven't come true so I knew everyone would think I'm just...well, crazy." She paused before adding, "Plus, part of me didn't want to believe it would actually happen."

"But it did," Tilly murmured, her mind blank as she tried desperately to put the pieces together. "And you said you have a second chance now?"

"Yes," Mrs. Robinson answered eagerly. "You see, God gave me another dream. It was almost the same as the first one, except this time it was about someone different."

"Who?" The psychiatrist asked.

"It was about you."

Tilly's heart raced in her chest as she stared at the elder woman. "M-me?" She stuttered. "What exactly happened in your vision?"

Mrs. Robinson reached a hand out and took Tilly's within her own. She stroked it gently. "I know you've been having nightmares about your father's death. I've seen it. I also known you've seen the same orange eyes that I have. Just be careful, Tilly."

Silence consumed them before the elder woman added ominously, "And whatever you do, don't go home."

* * *

><p>Read and Review!<p> 


	5. Don't Fear the Reaper

Author's Note: Thank you to deanloverforever, winchesterluver, jade02, Lillian, and Crystal-Wolf for the kind reviews! This chapter is for all of you. I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: Supernatural? Mine? Nope.

* * *

><p><em>All our times have come<em>

_Here but now they're gone_

_Seasons don't fear the reaper_

_Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain_

_We can be like they are_

_Come on baby_

_Don't fear the reaper_

_Baby take my hand_

_Don't fear the reaper_

_We'll be able to fly_

_Don't fear the reaper_

_ —Blue Oyster Cult_

"Do you have to eat that right now?"

Dean rose a brow at his younger brother, his eyes leaving the pile of burger and sauce laying next to him on the bed he occupied. Raising his hand to his mouth, Dean licked the mess from his digits as he replied, "Dude, I'm hungry. Do you have a problem with me eating?"

Sam glared at his brother, his brows furrowing in annoyance as he replied back, "No, I have a problem with you spilling your greasy mess all over my bed. I have to sleep there tonight, you know."

Dean smirked as he shot back, "Calm down. You know that I won't spill." He picked up the half-eaten burger, a saucy tomato sliding out the back as he bit into it.

Sam watched as the slice plopped down onto the sheets of his bed. He sighed before turning back towards the computer screen in front of him. "This case would be going a whole lot faster if you'd get off your ass and help me do some research."

The elder brother took another bite from his food before tossing it back into the styrofoam container. "Ah, but Sammy we've already established a system that works best for both of us. You're the brains and I'm the brawns." Dean flashed the younger Winchester a cocky smirk as he lifted himself from the bed.

"I never agreed to that system," Sam muttered as he continued to search various websites on his laptop.

Dean grasped the chair his brother was located in as he leaned over the younger man's shoulder to take a look at the computer screen. "Find anything interesting yet?"

Sam let out another sigh as he leaned back from the laptop. "Not really. At first I thought it might be a vengeful spirit, but I haven't been able to find any deaths in the area that appear suspicious."

Dean scowled. "Not even any of the asylum patients' deaths?"

Sam glanced at his brother. "I did as much research as I could on the patients at Silver Creek Mental Institution and a few other institutions nearby, but none seemed out of the ordinary. The only mysterious cases were the recent ones that the police ruled out as suicides."

"Maybe the spirit wasn't a patient..." Dean offered thoughtfully. "Did you look at all of the nurses' and psychiatrists' records?"

Sam nodded. "A nurse was found dead in her bedroom about a month ago. The autopsy reported her death to be a suicide. Yet, the police on the scene reported being confused by the way she died."

Dean rose a brow in curiosity.

Sam turned towards the laptop and clicked on an open webpage. The site brought up the police report about a young nurse named Rita Collins. "The police reported that when they found her the only way they were able to identify the body was through fingerprints. Her face, they stated, was completed beaten in. It was as if there had been some kind of attacker that had mutilated her before she died."

"A mutilated face? Looks like this thing likes to leave a trademark on its victims," Dean stated, his mind recalling the way Tilly had described her patient's death and the potential attacker that had mauled him. "Does it say anything else?"

Sam glanced at his brother. "Well, the doctors concluded it to be a suicide due to the knife found in the nurse's hand and the multiple stab wounds to her abdomen." The younger Winchester scrolled down the on the webpage before pausing. His eyes scanned over the words in interest. "Huh, that's odd."

"What is it?" Dean questioned.

"It says here that the victim had started seeing a psychiatrist before her death. Her reasons for the sessions were reported to be for recent nightmares concerning her fiancé's death."

Dean scoffed. "Making victims relive their worst memories through nightmares...Sounds like we've got a Freddy Krueger on our hands."

Sam continued to read, ignoring his brother's sarcastic movie-inspired comment. "The fiancé apparently was attacked by a bear while on a hiking trip with friends. The nurse had gone looking for him when his friends returned and told her that he had gone missing. She found him dead a few days later."

"Let me guess, his face was mutilated as well?" Dean asked dryly.

"It doesn't say," Sam answered as he finished reading the web article.

"Of course it doesn't," The elder brother muttered. "Does it say who the psychiatrist was that our nurse was going to?"

Sam paused as he flipped through the report, his eyes scanning over the name. "Yeah, her name is Dr. Matilda Evans." The younger brother glanced up at Dean, his brows rising in slight shock.

Dean smirked in sardonic amusement. "Well, looks like it's time to pay Filly another visit."

Sam shook his head as he closed his laptop and stood from the table. Stuffing the computer back into his school bag, he commented lightly, "You probably should stop calling her that, Dean."

"Why?" Dean shot back.

Sam glanced at him with a peeved twitch downwards of his lips. "Because last time you called her that she sprayed you with mace."

* * *

><p>"Do you know when Dr. Evans will be in next?" Sam asked with a frown.<p>

Grace shook her head, her bouncy ebony hair swooshing around her petite face. "Sorry, I've called her a few times over the last couple of hours, but she isn't answering her phone."

"Did she come into the office at all today?" The younger brother questioned.

Grace again shook her head. "She called in to ask about her schedule, but that was the last time I heard from her."

Sam glanced at his brother who in turn looked towards the young receptionist. Putting on his most charming smile, Dean asked, "You couldn't possibly tell us her schedule for today, could you?"

Grace's lips twitched upwards into a shy, apologetic smile, "Sorry, I have to follow the confidentiality laws."

Sam sighed in frustration behind Dean, though the elder brother didn't seem perturbed by the obstacle. "Look," He paused and glanced at the nameplate located on the desk. "Grace, it's very important we find Dr. Evans as soon as possible. We have to have our report about her patient's death submitted to the chief of police by tonight and our asses are sort of on the line already. So, is there anything I can do that might persuade you to hand over the doctor's schedule...?"

Grace paused for a moment, her eyes taking in Dean's suave smirk and casual demeanor as he leaned up against the front desk. "Well," She started, her mind buying easily into Dean's lies. "If the police need the report by tonight..."

"We would very much appreciate it," Dean added, his countenance oozing with unabashed, unadulterated charm.

"Right, just hold on a moment." Grace caved, her eyes turning from them as she clicked around on the computer in front of her.

Dean grinned as her turned to face his younger brother, his face lit up with sheer pride. Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes, his facade holding an irritated scowl. When it came to families, spouses, or any other normal person Sam could easily put on his empathetic mask and gain information from the victim's loved ones. Yet, when it came to young women with an appetite for a badass, Dean always seemed to be the one to get them to fork out the truth. Although his elder brother's tactics were exceedingly annoying to Sam, he couldn't help but acknowledge how handy they had started to become.

"Here you go," Grace said as she handed a sheet of paper to Dean. The elder Winchester glanced at the neat schedule, each patient's schedule blocking off certain hours of the day. Grace had given him a pretty thorough schedule of the psychiatrist's day; even her lunch hour was listed on the damn thing.

As the brothers turned to leave Grace quickly added, "Wait, take this too." Dean raised a curious brow as he was handed a small business card. Grace smiled coyly as she stated, "It has the office number on it. I wrote my cell number on the back too. If you need to reach me, I'm always available on that number."

Dean didn't miss a beat as he answered, "Good to know. Thanks, Grace." He gave her a teasing wink before turning towards his younger brother. "Let's go."

Sam couldn't resist the urge any longer as he openly rolled his eyes, his footsteps close behind his brother's as they quickly left the office.

"Did you see that, Sammy?" Dean asked as they entered the ebony Impala. "I got that chick's number without even asking. You know, I've never done a secretary before. I bet she'd even get me coffee the next morning if I asked her to."

"Do you always have to have your mind in the gutter instead of on the case?" Sam muttered, annoyance lacing his tone.

Dean paused before responding, "Next time you should watch and learn from what I do. Maybe you'd actually get a girl's number for a change."

"Just shut up and give me the schedule." Sam commanded before adding, "Jerk."

Dean smirked and quickly shot back, "Bitch."

Sam, losing all patience for his brother's mocking banter, roughly reached over and attempted to take the schedule from Dean. After fighting back and forth for a few moments, he was finally able to rip the wrinkled piece of paper from his brother before grasping it within both his hands. Smoothing it on his leg, Sam then held it up and glanced at the psychiatrist's agenda.

"Looks like right now she should be back at the office." Sam commented as he checked the time.

"Which she obviously isn't," Dean responded sarcastically. "The secretary said she hasn't responded to any calls since this morning, which means she probably went missing right after she called in to ask about her schedule. Where was her first session?"

Sam scanned the paper. "It says here she had a session with Mrs. Robinson at Silver Creek Mental Institution at nine this morning."

"Get on your phone and pull up the address." Dean commanded. "Let's go see if anyone has seen our missing doctor."

Pulling up to the institution, it didn't take long to gain access to the front desk. The brother's fake police badges worked like charms as they strolled up to the two receptionists seated behind the front desk in the lobby. Flashing the badges, the brothers quickly asked if either of the women had seen Dr. Evans recently.

The first one nodded her head before hesitantly asking, "Is she in any sort of trouble, officer?"

Dean shook his head, a fake friendly smile gracing his lips. "No, of course not. We just need to ask her a few questions about her deceased patient. We were informed that this was the last place she was heard from."

The woman raised a thin brow. "Last heard from? Did she not go into the office today? Dr. Evans rarely misses work and her phone is always on."

Dean's smile left as a small frown replaced his visage. "Really? So when was the last time you saw Dr. Evans today?"

The receptionist thought for a moment before responding, "She came in around nine. She had a session with one of our patients. It lasted about an hour and then she left."

"Did anything seem off about Dr. Evans?" Sam questioned. "Anything suspicious or different from the usual?"

"No, I don't think so. She was friendly and talkative when she came in today, same as she always is." The woman paused. "Why do you ask?"

"We're trying to figure out why she hasn't been able to be contacted in the last few hours." Sam replied gently.

The receptionist appeared thoughtful for a moment before slowly adding, "You know, she did seem a little off when she left. She didn't stop to ask about my husband like she usually does. In fact, she didn't even say good-bye to us today. She just sort of flew out the door. She looked like she had something on her mind. It could have been family problems again, but it's really none of my business..."

The brothers glanced at each other before nodding. "Is there any chance we can talk to the patient she saw today?"

The woman seemed hesitant. "You can try to question to Mrs. Robinson, but just don't push her too much for information. She's had a few episodes over the last few weeks and we're trying to keep her stress down. Her room is 228; straight down the front hall and to the left."

"Thanks," Sam murmured before both men left the lobby and ventured down the hall.

The door was open to Mrs. Robinson's room, sunlight bursting through the open window and flooding the area in an ethereal glow. Dean's eyes caught sight of the biblical scripture on the wall along with the numerous crucifixes. He glanced at Sam, a suspicious look on his face.

"Witch?" He mouthed silently. Sam shrugged before nodding towards where Mrs. Robinson sat in her wheelchair. Her head turned as they entered the room, both pulling out their badges as if to comfort her with the presence of authority.

"Hello, Mrs. Robinson." Sam started. "We're here to ask about Dr. Evans. We need to ask her a few things about another patient of hers, but we haven't been able to get a hold of her. We were wondering if you could answer a few questions for us to help us locate her whereabouts."

Mrs. Robinson nodded in consent, but added, "I'm not sure how much help I'll be, though. The nurses just gave me my medication so my head's a little fuzzy."

Dean scoffed; that was just their luck. Trying to get information out of a drugged up psychopath didn't exactly sound like the easiest thing to do. Taking a seat in the open chair next to the elder woman, he asked, "So Dr. Evans is your psychiatrist?"

She nodded, a smile gracing her lips. "Yes, she's been my doctor for almost two years."

"Is there a reason why you chose Dr. Evans as your psychiatrist? I'm sure you could have seen a doctor that works here at the institution." Sam questioned.

"Tilly has the best reputation in town." Mrs. Robinson stated. "She comes here from time to time to take on patients. It helps lighten the load for the psychiatrists who work here."

"She seems like a hard worker," Sam commented. "Is it common for her to miss work?"

The elder woman shook her head. "She never cancels our appointments. She even makes time in her busy schedule to come in and check on me after I've had an episode."

"Well," Sam began. "She's missed all of her sessions today except yours. If that's as rare as you say, then there must be a reason why no one has seen or head from her since she left here."

"I..." Mrs. Robinson paused, her expression suddenly morphing into a look of worry as her jaw began to tremble. "I tried to warn her..."

"Warn her?" Dean repeated. "From what?"

The elder woman glanced at Dean, her expression faulty as she began to ring her hands. "It's nothing. You wouldn't believe me anyways."

"Try me." Dean challenged.

Mrs. Robinson pursed her lips before finally giving in. "I told her about a vision God gave me."

Sam raised a brow, his eyes quickly darting around the room at the many crosses and biblical relics that decorated her room. So far the elderly woman had proven she wasn't a witch. What exactly she was, though, he wasn't sure. Glancing back Mrs. Robinson, he asked, "What sort of vision?"

"A few days before her patient's death—you know, Mr. Palmer—I had visions from God about the way he was going to die. I didn't think they were real, but then Tilly found him drowned in a lake just like I had seen. I had another vision earlier this week, but this time it was about Tilly."

"Was it the same as the vision you had about Mr. Palmer?" Dean asked.

The woman shook her head. "Mr. Palmer drowned in my vision. Tilly...I...I can't say."

"Why not?" Dean questioned roughly.

"It's too awful." Mrs. Robinson whispered in response. "I warned her, though. I told her not to go home. That's where the orange-eyed demon is waiting for her."

"What orange-eyed demon?"

The woman glanced at the elder brother. "The same one I saw in my vision about Mr. Palmer. It's what killed him and it wants to murder Tilly next."

"What did it look like?" Sam pushed, hoping the woman would have an answer. It would make solving the case and saving another innocent life that much easier.

The woman shook her head. "I could never make out any details. It was dark—shadowed, really. But it's eyes...oh, it's eyes glowed and seemed to pierce right through me. It was as if it was looking into my soul."

* * *

><p>Tilly sighed, her jacket falling onto the bed as she settled into the motel room. Checking the time, she let another disappointed breath leave her lips as she fell ungracefully upon the stiff mattress. She had missed all of her appointments that day. The reputation she had worked so hard to maintain was probably miles down the toilet by now. She could see it already; tomorrow's head story in the paper would read how her patients all had mental breakdowns due to her absence. It would go on to say how she cowered in fear the entire night in a flea-ridden motel room because of some crack-pot, husband-murderer's crazy vision. Tilly rose a hand to her head, a headache already throbbing against her skull. She had never considered herself to be foolish, but right now she felt pretty damn ridiculous.<p>

When she had left Silver Creek that morning she had no intention of missing her scheduled therapy sessions. Yes, what Mrs. Robinson had said had disturbed her, but she was no coward. She had pushed all of her absurd fears into the back of her mind as she had gotten in her car and made her way to the office. On the way, though, she could have sworn she saw those eyes. She could see them in the shadows of an alleyway, on a little boy playing on the jungle gym, piercing through her soul as she glanced out the rearview mirror. She had wanted to go into work and ignore her silly nerves, but as she drove on what small amount of courage she was clinging to slowly started to crumble away. Before she had known what she was doing she had driven half way out of town. The motel she checked into was a dumpy joint located on the outskirts of the small town. The room didn't even have a tv, which only further encouraged her thoughts concerning the evil that was beginning to drive her insane.

"This is crazy," She muttered to herself as she glanced around the dim room. "What the hell am I doing here? I'm losing my mind."

Leaving the bed, she quickly crossed the room and turned on the small sink. The pipes whined before water spluttered out of the faucet. Leaning down, Tilly cupped a handful of cool water and splashed her face a few times with it. The liquid felt good against her skin as she ran a wet hand down her face. Grabbing the hand towel next to her, she slowly dabbed her skin dry. Lifting her head from the towel, she glanced in the mirror. God, she looked like a mess. Her skin was pale white, her hair in tangles around her shoulders. She must have caught some stares if she looked like this when leaving the institution that morning. As Tilly tossed the towel back down onto the counter, her eyes caught on a familiar eerie sight in the mirror. Flaming eyes stared in slits at her as she stood facing the reflection. Her hair pricked and a terrified sweat broke out upon her flesh. Quickly shutting her eyes, Tilly breathed in deeply.

"It's all my imagination. My mind is playing tricks on me." She let out a shaky breath. "It just can't be real."

Whispering the last statement, she mustered up whatever courage she had left and turned towards where she had seen the creature. Opening her eyes, she felt her body physically relax as she was met with the sight of her empty motel room. Her nerves suddenly jumped into high gear again, though, as the loud ringing of her phone startled her.

Groaning, she slowly walked over to where her purse lay. Going through the large bag, she checked the caller ID before flipping the phone open. "Hello?"

"How's Hawaii?"

Tilly's brow furrowed. "Mom?"

"Of course it's me. Who else would it be calling you while you're on vacation?" The elder woman's sharp voice responded sardonically.

"What are you talking about?" Tilly asked, confusion lacing her tone. "I'm not on vacation."

"Oh really? Then why has your secretary been telling me that you're in Hawaii and have not been receiving calls for the last week and a half?"

"Damnit," Tilly muttered as she realized she had just revealed herself in her own lie. "Sorry, Mom..."

"Sorry? That's all you have to say? I've been trying to reach you for a week only to find out that you've been blatantly ignoring my calls _and _lying to me! Not only that, but you had your own secretary lying for you because you couldn't do it yourself!"

"Mom, stop." Tilly tried to calm the furious woman. "I'm sorry, alright? What more do you want me to do?"

Silence consumed the line before her mother quietly added, "I could have been dying, you know."

Tilly rolled her eyes. Her mother was notorious for being a drama queen at times. "I said I'm sorry."

"Yes, I heard you." The elder woman noted, her annoyed tone never straying.

"So what is it, Mom? Why are you calling me?" Tilly asked, not in the mood to beat around the bush.

"I just wanted to check up on you," Her mom admitted. "I heard about your patient's death the other week."

Tilly's mind flashed with images of Bernard, the lake, and those hideous eyes. She shivered as she glanced around the room, thankful to find it still empty. "I'm fine."

Her mother sighed. "I know you, Matilda. You're not fine."

"I dealt with it and moved on. It's what professionals do."

"Tilly..." Her mother's voiced lowered an octave, compassion lacing her tone. "With everything that happened in our past...I know how you respond to death. I wanted to let you know that I'm here to talk if you need me. I know I wasn't always, but I am now."

"It's a little late for that, don't you think?" Tilly murmured.

The young woman listened as a small silence flooded the line. She knew what she had said probably hurt her mother, but she wasn't in the mood to talk. All the years of therapy she had gone to after her father's death couldn't pacify the shallow feelings of resentment she held against her mom. It wasn't that she was angry with the woman and she was nowhere near hating her. Her mother hadn't dealt with the death of her husband appropriately, though, and she was rarely there when Tilly needed her the most. Because of those hard years of therapy and distance, a trench now separated Tilly emotionally from the elder woman.

"If you don't want to talk that's fine." Her mother responded coldly. "But next time don't make up lies just to avoid me."

Tilly cringed as the elder woman promptly hung up, the phone line going dead quickly after. Snapping her phone shut, Tilly sighed in exhaustion. She hadn't meant to sound so rude towards her mom, but with everything going on at the moment she couldn't muster up the patience to talk to the woman. What she needed most was sleep. Yawning quietly, Tilly slowly crawled under the stiff covers. Cuddling underneath them, she let fatigue overtake her body as she drifted into sleep.

* * *

><p>"Damnit," Dean muttered as he paced around their motel room. "Do we have any kind of leads? Anything that could help us find that damn psychiatrist?"<p>

Sam glanced at his elder brother and slowly shook his head. "No one has seen or talked to her since her appointment at Silver Creek."

Dean scowled as he continued to pace. "Well, that's just great. Now we're going to have to try to find her within the next hour before it gets dark so whatever it is that's murdering the people here won't get to her first."

"We don't have time to search every house, apartment, and motel in the town." Sam stated doubtingly.

"You think I don't know that?" Dean snapped.

Sam frowned apologetically before turning back to his laptop. "If it helps, I think I have an idea about what we're dealing with."

Dean's gazed darted towards Sam before he quickly joined his brother by the computer. Leaning over Sam's shoulder, his eyes scanned over the webpage that was pulled up.

"I looked up folklore about demons who cause their victims to have nightmares. The search was pretty general, so I narrowed it down to creatures with orange eyes." Sam explained. "I found some interesting stuff on a creature called an alp."

"An alp? What the hell is that?" Dean questioned.

"It's a creature originating from German and Austrian folklore. It's said to have many forms, but it always has one constant characteristic: 'flaming eyes, whose gaze will inflict death and misfortune.'" Sam read. "It attacks its victims while they're sleeping. The alp forces them to endure nightmares while gorging on their souls. The creature will usually take a few nights before fully ingesting the victim's soul. It's known for leaving its victims' faces mangled and unrecognizable."

Dean glanced at Sam as his younger brother stared up at him. "Yahtzee," The elder Winchester muttered before pushing back from the computer to pace the room once more. "So now that we know what we're dealing with, do we know how to kill it?"

Sam searched the website. "It doesn't say anything about how to kill one," He admitted. "Most websites give suggestions on how to get rid of one, but they all speculate that the alp will come back later in a worse mood."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, I'm not really interested in seeing what an alp in a bad mood is like."

"It says here that the creatures are demonic in nature," Sam continued. "So what about the Colt?"

Dean felt his lips twitch upwards at the thought. "That might just work, Sammy."

A moment's silence fell between the two before suddenly a blood-curdling scream broke through the air. The brother's glanced at each other before both sprung into action. Sam quickly grabbed the journal and the Colt. He tossed the gun to Dean before both hurriedly sprinted out of the room. Fortunately the scream lasted just long enough for them to locate which room it had come from. Standing outside the door where the noise had originated, Dean cocked the Colt before quickly kicking the wood of the door in. Dashing inside, his eyes widened at the sight before him. On the bed lay an unconscious Tilly, her eyes wide open and rolled back into her head as she lay limply against the mattress. Perched upon her was a large creature, its mouth viciously locked with hers as it indulged in her soul. Its long, clawed fingers were wrapped brutally around her neck, bruises already apparent on her flesh.

"Hey, you!" Dean yelled, his gun pointed directly at the demonic creature.

The alp immediately separated itself from Tilly, it's black tongue licking its sharp, pointed teeth as it turned to glare at Dean. Harvest-hued eyes burned holes into the elder Winchester's skull as the alp kept its ruthless gaze upon the intruders. Without a second thought, Dean quickly shot at the demon. With a snarl it leapt from the bed. Dean released another shot, growling in frustration when the bullet only barely nicked the creature's leg. The demon screamed, yet still managed to break through the window and disappear outside.

Tossing the Colt to Sam, Dean quickly demanded, "Go follow the bastard. I'll check on Tilly."

Sam nodded and quickly exited the room in search of the demon. Striding over to the bed, Dean leaned down and gently cradled Tilly's head. Her eyes blinked as her vision came back into focus. She suddenly jerked back as if afraid the creature was still in the room, her eyes darting around the expanse of the area. Backing a bit away from her, Dean waited for the woman to calm down. Reaching a hand up, Tilly pushed her messy hair away from her face as she sat up. Pulling her knees to her chest, her gaze finally settled on Dean. Fear was etched upon the features of her trembling face. Dean looked down at her accusingly.

"Is there something you forgot to tell me?"

* * *

><p>I found some information on the alp from various websites and also added a few details here and there. Thank you for the support and please read and review!<p> 


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